the morning that, albeit with an ill grace, he tacitly consented, and
turned away to bring his blankets. But in the next moment she was at his
side, following him like a dog, silent and wistful, and even offering
to carry his burden. When he had built the fire, for which she had
collected the pine-cones and broken branches near them, he sat down,
folded his arms, and leaned back against the tree in reserved and
deliberate silence.

Humble and submissive, she did not attempt to break in upon a reverie
she could not help but feel had little kindliness to herself. As the
fire snapped and sparkled, she pillowed her head upon a root, and lay
still to watch it.

It rose and fell, and dying away at times to a mere lurid glow, and
again, agitated by some breath scarcely perceptible to them, quickening
into a roaring flame. When only the embers remained, a dead silence
filled the wood. Then the first breath of morning moved the tangled
canopy above, and a dozen tiny sprays and needles detached from the
interlocked boughs winged their soft way noiselessly to the earth. A few
fell upon the prostrate woman like a gentle benediction, and she slept.
But even then, the young man, looking down, saw that the slender fingers
were still aimlessly but rigidly twisted in the leather fringe of his
hunting-shirt.




CHAPTER II.