“I?” in surprise.
“Yes.”
A flush mottled her cheeks, but she hesitated only a moment.
“Father won’t care, I know,” she said, and started with me.
She was bareheaded, and the witcheries of the twilight drifted over her. In the distance sang the deep monotone of the waterfall. Drowsy twitterings announced that the busy little people of the trees were content after their day’s work. From the edges of the stream rose comfortable whispers between the water and the reeds. The lightly moving air swung odorous censers in the trees, and every flower poured out as perfume the sunshine which had filled its chalice. It was good to be thus again side by side with Annabel.
I explained tomorrow’s plan for her meeting with Beelo, and impressed upon her the importance of keeping it secret. She showed the glee of a quiet child in her acquiescence, but she must have wondered why her father was not to know.
“An adventure!” she exclaimed. “And mystery! It is delightful. Do you men with so much freedom know how depressing it is to be cooped up in this camp?”
I had not thought of it, and was surprised. Annabel had always been cheerful, and I had not observed the other women.
“Isn’t it life,” I asked, “for men to work and women to wait, for men to dare and women to endure?”
“Yes,” she answered, looking up at me with a smile, “but isn’t it a remnant of savagery?”