He turned.

"Thou wilt not place thy face to mine, Annadoah? Yet I love thee,
Annadoah. My heart melts as streams in springtime, Annadoah. My arms
grow strong as the wind, and my hand swift as an arrow for love of
thee, Annadoah. The joy the sight of thee gives me is greater than
that of food after starving in the long winter! Yea, thou wilt be
mine? Surely for my heart bursts for love of thee, Annadoah."

He leaned back, stretching his arms, but Annadoah shyly drew further
inside her shelter.

With a sigh he flung his leather line over his shoulder, seized his
harpoons, and stepped from the tent. His step was resilient and
buoyant, his slim body moved with the grace of an arctic deer. He
looked back as he reached the icy shore. Annadoah stood at the door of
her tent. Her parting laughter rang after him with the sweetness of
buntings singing in spring.

Ootah's heart leaped within him. Annadoah possessed a beauty rare
among her people. From her father, one of the brave white men who had
died with the Greely party years before at Cape Sabine, Annadoah had
inherited a delicacy and beauty more common indeed with the unknown
peoples of the south. Her face was fresh and smooth, and of a pale
golden hue. Her cheeks were flushed delicately with the soft pink of
the lichen flowers that bloom in the rare days of early summer. Her
eyes played with a light as elusive, as quick as the golden radiance on
the seas. Her dark silken hair straggled luxuriantly from under the
loose hood of immaculate white fox fur which had fallen back from her