"Romance doesn't belong to regions," she said. "Only to the human heart."
Murray nodded.
"That's so—too." His amiable smile beamed into the girl's serious eyes. "Those pore darn fools that don't know better than to hunt fish through holes in the polar ice are just as chock full of romance as any school miss. Sure. If it depended on conditions I guess we'd need to go hungry for it. Facts, and desperate hard facts at that, go to make up life north of 'sixty,' and any one guessing different is li'ble to find all the trouble Providence is so generous handing out hereabouts."
"I think that way, too—now. I didn't always."
The girl sighed.
"No."
The man seemed to have nothing further to add, and his smile died out. Jessie was once more reflectively contemplating the masses of overhanging ice on the opposite bank. The thoughts of both had drifted back over a space of seven months.
It was the man who finally broke the spell which seemed to have fallen. He broke it with a movement of impatience.
"What's the use?" he said at last.
"No—there's no use. Nothing can ever bring him back to us." The girl suddenly flung out her hands in a gesture of helpless earnestness and longing. "Oh, if he might have been spared to me. My daddy, my brave, brave daddy."