both of us. Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now"--and he
folded her hand in his--"is real; and there is no such thing as
forgiveness to be spoken of between us. There shall be happiness
for us yet, please God!"

"I want to go to Falkenstowe. Will--will my mother forgive me?"

"Mothers always forgive, Hester, else half the world had slain itself in
shame."

And then she smiled for the first time since he had seen her. This was
in the shadows of the scented pines; and a new life breathed upon her,
as it breathed upon them all, and they knew that the fever of the White
Valley had passed away from them forever.

After many hardships they came in safety to the regions of the south
country again; and the tale they told, though doubted by the race of
pale-faces, was believed by the heathen; because there was none among
them but, as he cradled at his mother's breasts, and from his youth up,
had heard the legend of the Scarlet Hunter.

For the romance of that journey, it concerned only the man and woman to
whom it was as wine and meat to the starving. Is not love more than
legend, and a human heart than all the beasts of the field or any joy of
slaughter?