“Yes, and—and you will love me?”
Her head drooped slowly, so slowly he did not realize the significance of the action, until her lips touched his hand.
“I do,” she said; “you are the best man in the world.”
Fairbain could not move, could not seem to realize what it all meant. The outcome had been so sudden, so surprising, that all power of expression deserted him. In bewilderment he lifted her face, and looked into her eyes. Perhaps she realized—with the swift intuition of a clever woman—the man's perplexity, for instantly she led his mind to other things.
“But let us not talk of ourselves any more, to-night. There is so much I wish to know; so much that ought to be done.” She sprang to her feet. “Why, it is almost shameful for us to stay here, selfishly happy, while others are in such trouble. Have they discovered Hope?”
“No; we scoured the whole town and found no trace. Now they are outside on the prairie, but there can be little chance of their picking up a trail before daylight.”
“And Hawley?”
“He has vanished also; without doubt they are together. What do you suppose he can want of her? How do you imagine he ever got her to go with him? She isn't that sort of a girl.”
She shook her head, shivering a little.
“He must have mistaken her for me—perhaps has not even yet discovered his mistake. But what it all means, or how he gained her consent to go with him, I cannot conceive.”