"If you can't, I owe it to you and to myself to set you right. I am not ashamed to acknowledge my love, and even when you are married to Poleon I want you to know that I shall love you always."
Even yet she made no sign. Was he not merely repeating the same empty words with which he had so often beguiled her? There was no word of marriage: he still considered her unworthy, beneath him. The pain of it caused the girl to wince suddenly, and her sensitive face flinched, seeing which he broke out:
"You do love me, Necia—you do; I see it in your eyes!" And he started towards her with open arms, but she shrank away from him.
"No, no! Don't touch me!" she almost screamed.
"My dear one," he breathed, "you must listen to me. You have nothing to fear, for I love you—love you—love you! You were made for me! You'll be my wife. Yes; you'll be married on Sunday, but to me, not to Poleon or any other man!"
Did she hear aright? Was he, her soldier lover, asking her, the Indian girl—?
"You do love me, don't you?" he pleaded. But still she could not speak, and he tried to read the answer in her swimming eyes.
"You mean—you want to—marry me?" she murmured, at last, hesitating shyly at the word that had come to play so momentous a part in her little world.
"Indeed I do!" he declared, with emphasis. "In spite of everything, anything. Nothing else matters."
"Nothing?"