She looked at him, all the fervent Irish soul of her in her eyes. Then one arm stole upward to his shoulder.
"As you love me," she whispered softly, "as you love me!"
"I can ask no more, sweetheart," he breathed soberly, and kissed her. At last she drew back, still restrained by his arms, but with her eyes suddenly grave and thoughtful.
"We forget," she chided, "where we are. You must let me go now, and see if he is alive. I will wait on the bench, here."
"But you said he had been killed."
"I do not know; there was no time for me to be sure of that. The shot struck him here in the chest, and when he fell he knocked me down. I tore open his shirt, and bound up the wound hastily; it did not bleed much. He never spoke after that, and lay perfectly still."
"Poor old Fred. I'll do what I can for him—I'll not be away a minute, dear."
He could see little from the doorway, only the dark shadow of a man's form lying full length on the floor. To enter he pushed aside the uptilted bed, picking up the shotgun, and setting it against the log wall. Then he took the lamp down from the shelf, and held it so the feeble light fell upon the upturned face. He stared down at the features thus revealed, unable for the moment to find expression for his bewilderment.
"Can you come here, dear?" he called.
She stood beside him, gazing from his face into those features on which the rays of the lamp fell.