“Oh, thank God! I knew you would come!” she said, and her head sank to his shoulder.
Dale divined what he had suspected. Helen's sister had been carried off. Yet, while his quick mind grasped Helen's broken spirit—the unbalance that was reason for this marvelous and glorious act—he did not take other meaning of the embrace to himself. He just stood there, transported, charged like a tree struck by lightning, making sure with all his keen senses, so that he could feel forever, how she was clinging round his neck, her face over his bursting heart, her quivering form close pressed to his.
“It's—Bo,” he said, unsteadily.
“She went riding yesterday—and—never—came—back!” replied Helen, brokenly.
“I've seen her trail. She's been taken into the woods. I'll find her. I'll fetch her back,” he replied, rapidly.
With a shock she seemed to absorb his meaning. With another shock she raised her face—leaned back a little to look at him.
“You'll find her—fetch her back?”
“Yes,” he answered, instantly.
With that ringing word it seemed to Dale she realized how she was standing. He felt her shake as she dropped her arms and stepped back, while the white anguish of her face was flooded out by a wave of scarlet. But she was brave in her confusion. Her eyes never fell, though they changed swiftly, darkening with shame, amaze, and with feelings he could not read.
“I'm almost—out of my head,” she faltered.