Later, as he walked with Nell by the golden-fringed stream, he spoke of Joe.
"Joe wanted so much to hunt with Wetzel. He will come back; surely he will return to us when he has satisfied his wild craving for adventure. Do you not think so?"
There was an eagerness that was almost pleading in Jim's voice. What he so much hoped for—that no harm had befallen Joe, and that he would return—he doubted. He needed the encouragement of his hope.
"Never," answered Nell, solemnly.
"Oh, why—why do you say that?"
"I saw him look at you—a strange, intent glance. He gazed long at me as we separated. Oh! I can feel his eyes. No; he will never come back."
"Nell, Nell, you do not mean he went away deliberately—because, oh!
I cannot say it."
"For no reason, except that the wilderness called him more than love for you or—me."
"No, no," returned Jim, his face white. "You do not understand. He really loved you—I know it. He loved me, too. Ah, how well! He has gone because—I can't tell you."
"Oh, Jim, I hope—he loved—me," sobbed Nell, bursting into tears. "His coldness—his neglect those—last few days—hurt me—so. If he cared—as you say—I won't be—so—miserable."