“Wonderfully.... And so very happy.... Thank you—dear.”
She lay back, suffering him to bathe her face and hands with warm water.
When the fire was only a heap of dying coals, she turned over on her right side and extended her hand a little way into the darkness. Searching, half asleep, she touched her husband, and her hand relaxed in his nervous clasp. And she fell into the most perfect sleep which she had known in years.
She dreamed that somebody whispered to her, “Darling, darling, wake up. It is morning, beloved.”
Suddenly she opened her eyes; and saw her husband set a tray, freshly plaited out of Indian willow, beside her blanket.
“Here’s your breakfast, pretty lady,” he said, smilingly. “And over there is an exceedingly frigid pool of water. You’re to have the camp to yourself for the next hour or two.”
“You dear fellow,” she murmured, still confused by sleep, and reached out to touch his hand. He caught hers and kissed it, back and palm, and got up hastily as though scared.
“Selden and I will stand sentry,” he muttered. “There is no hurry, you know.”
She heard him and his comrade walking away over dried leaves; their steps receded; a dry stick cracked distantly; then silence stealthily invaded the place like a cautious living thing, creeping unseen through the golden twilight of the woods.