A curious suspicion that he was waiting to tell her something made
her answer almost feverishly in the affirmative. It amounted to a
premonition of evil tidings, and instinctively her thoughts flew to
her father.

"What is it?" she questioned nervously. "You have something to say."

Nick's face was turned from her. He seemed to be gazing across the
ravine.

"Yes," he said, after a moment.

"Oh, what?" she broke in. "Tell me quickly--quickly! It is my father,
I know, I know. He has been hurt--wounded--"

She stopped. Nick had lifted one hand as if to silence her. "My dear,"
he said, his voice very low, "your father died last night--before we
left the fort."

At her cry of agony he started up, and in a second he was on his
knees by her side and had gathered her to him as though she had been
a little child in need of comfort. She did not shrink from him in her
extremity. The blow had been too sudden, too overwhelming. It blotted
out all lesser sensibilities. In those first terrible moments she
did not think of Nick at all, was scarcely conscious of his presence,
though she vaguely felt the comfort of his arms.

And he, holding her fast against his breast, found no consolation, no
word of any sort wherewith to soothe her. He only rocked her gently,
pressing her head to his shoulder, while his face, bent above her,