“Yes, dear—as my wife—I cannot go without you—I could not live without you now!”
Stooping down he caught hold of the floating “boat,” which had drifted quite against the rock upon which he stood. Stretching forth the other hand he caught the girl by the arm and lifted her upon the rock close beside himself. The water from her soaked garments trickled down as he held her in a tight embrace. At length he ceased to blind and to smother her with ardent kisses, and whispered, “Tell me yes—yes!”
“I’m—cold! Please go.” Her quivering form and blue lips accentuated her words.
“First say that you love me—that you do care.”
“Care? Oh! yes—I care! Love?—I do not know!”
“When are you to return to the ranch? Shall I wait and come then for my reply?” asked Davis, earnestly; and Bess, hoping that her answer might cause him to hasten away, said eagerly: “Yes—do—tomorrow.”
She did not resist the parting kiss, but her lips did not respond to his pressure. She heard him hurrying over the pebbles, heard him speak to his horse, knew that he had gone, but still she stood facing the lake, looking at, yet beyond the mountains. A feeling of numbness crept over her body and chilled her soul. A child’s voice calling aroused her from her lethargy, and with a quick bound she sprang forward and ran to the tent. After all, she had not been gone so very long, though it seemed as if an eternity had been crowded into the half hour.
While she was dressing “Peter Pan” had gone to view the wonderful boat which Bess had told her of, and soon came hurrying back with the entreaty to “let’s try it again—please.”
“The water is too cold for you, dearie—and besides, I am tired from my long voyage, you see. Come, we will go down by the water and wait until the hunters come back, and I’ll tell you stories of ships—and seas—and everything, ’neverything else.”