The Hidden Children 19 – Chambers · Library Across
Literature · Western
The Hidden Children 19The Rite of the Hidden Children
18
Literature · Western
The Hidden Children 19
The Rite of the Hidden Children
ChambersEnglish
My Indians and I stood watching our riflemen as they swung to the east and trotted out of sight among the trees. Then, at a curt nod from me, the Indians lengthened their line, extending it westward along the height of land, and so spreading out that they entirely commanded the only outlet to the swamp below, by encircling both the trail and the headwaters of the evil-looking little stream.
Through the unbroken thatch of matted foliage overhead no faintest ray of sunlight filtered--not even where the stream coiled its slimy way among the tamaracks and spruces. But south of us, along the ascending trail by which we had come, the westering sun glowed red across a ledge of rock, from which the hill fell sheer away, plunging into profound green depths, where unseen waters flowed southward to the Susquehanna.
Around the massive elbow of this ledge, our back-trail, ascending into view, curved under shouldering boulders. Blueberry scrub, already turning gold and crimson, grew sparsely on the crag--cover enough for any watcher of the trail. And thither I crept and stretched me out flat in the bushes, where I could see the trail we had lately traversed, and look along it far to our rear as clearly as one sees through a dim and pillared corridor.
West of me, a purplish ridge ran north, the sun shining low through a pine-clad notch. Southwest of me, little blue peaks pricked the primrose sky; south-east lay endless forests, their green already veiled in an ashy blue bloom. Far down, under me, wound the narrow back-trail through the gulf below.
Presently, beside me came creeping the lithe Mohican, and lay down prone, smooth and golden, and shining like a sleek panther in the sun.
"Is all well guarded, brother?" I whispered.
"Not even a wood-mouse could creep from the swamp unless our warriors see it."
"And when dark comes?"
"Our ears must be our eyes, Loskiel.... But neither the Cat-People nor the Andastes will venture out of that morass, save only by the trail. And we shall have two watchers on it through the night."
"There is no other outlet?"
"None, except by the ridge Boyd travels. He blocks that pass with his twenty men."
"Then we should have their egress blocked, except only in the north?"
"Yes--unless they learn of this by magic," muttered the Mohican.
It was utterly useless for me to decry or ridicule his superstitions; and there was but one way to combat them.
"If witchcraft there truly be in Catharines-town," said I, "it is bad magic, and therefore weak; and can avail nothing against true priesthood. What could the degraded acolytes of this Red Priest do against a consecrated Sagamore of the Lenape--against an ensign of the Enchanted Clan? Else why do you wear your crest--or the great Ghost Bear there rearing upon your breast?"
"It is true," he murmured uneasily. "What spell can Amochol lay upon us? What magic can he make to escape us? For the trail from Catharines-town is stopped by a Siwanois Sagamore and a Mohican warrior! It is closed by an Oneida Sachem who stand watching. When the Ghost Bear and the Were-Wolf watch, then the whole forest watches with them--Loup, Blue Wolf, and Bear. Where, then, can the Forest Cats slink out? Where can the filthy Carcajou escape?"
"Mayaro has spoken. It is a holy barrier that locks and bolts this door of secret evils. Under Tharon shall this trap remain inviolate till the last sorcerer be taken in it, the last demon be dead!"
* "Yo-ya-ne-re!" he said, deliberately employing the Canienga expression with a fierce scorn that, for a moment, made his noble features terrible. Then he spat as though to wash from his mouth the taste of the hated language that had soiled it, even when used in contempt and derision; and he said in the suave tongue of his own people: "Pray to your white God, Holder of Heaven, Master of Life and Death, that into our hands be delivered these scoffers who mock at Him and at Tharon--these Cat-murderers of little children, these pollutors of the Three Fires. And in the morning I shall arise and look into the rising sun, and ask the same of the far god who made of me a Mohican, a Siwanois, and a Sagamore. Let these things be done, brother, ere our hatchets redden in the flames of Catharines-town. For," he added, naively, "it is well that God should know what we are about, lest He misunderstand our purpose."
[* "It is well!"]
I assented gravely.
The sun hung level, now, sending its blinding light straight into our eyes; and for precaution's sake we edged away under the blue shadows of the shrubbery, in case some far prowler note the light spots where our faces showed against the wall of green behind us.
"How far from Catharines-town," I asked, "lies the Vale Yndaia, of which our little Lois has spoken?"
"It is the next valley to the westward. A pass runs through and a little brook. Pleasant it is, Loskiel, with grassy glades and half a hundred little springs which we call 'Eyes of the Inland Seas.'"
"You know," I said, "that in this valley all the hopes of Lois de Contrecoeur are centred."
"I know, Loskiel," he answered gravely.
"Do you believe her mother lives there still?"
"How shall I know, brother? If it were with these depraved and perverted Senecas as it is with other nations, the mother of a Hidden Child had lived there unmolested. Her lodge would have remained her sanctuary; her person had been respected; her Hidden One undisturbed down to this very hour. But see how the accursed Senecas have dealt with her, so that to save her child from Amochol she sent it far beyond the borders of the Long House itself! What shame upon the Iroquois that the Senecas have defiled their purest law! May Leshi seize them all! So how, then, shall I know whether this white captive mother lives in the Vale Yndaia still--or if she lives at all? Or if they have not made of her a priestess--a sorceress--perhaps The Dreaming Prophetess of the Onon-hou-aroria!--by reason of her throat being white!"
"What!" I exclaimed, startled.
"Did not the Erie boast a Prophetess to confound us all?"
"I did not comprehend."
"Did he not squat, squalling at us from his cave, deriding every secret plan we entertained, and boasting that the Senecas had now a prophetess who could reveal to them everything their white enemies were plotting--because her own throat was white?"
I looked at him in silent horror.
"Hai-ee!" he said grimly. "If she still lives at all it is because she dreams for Amochol. And this, Loskiel, has long remained my opinion. Else they had slain her on their altars long ago--strangled her as soon as ever she sent her child beyond their reach. For what she did broke sanctuary. According to the code of the Long House, the child belonged to the nation in which the mother was a captive. And by the mother's act this child was dedicated to a stainless marriage with some other child who also had been hidden. But the Red Sorcerer has perverted this ancient law; and when he would have taken the child to sacrifice it, then did the mother break the law of sanctuary and send her child away, knowing, perhaps, that the punishment for this is death.
"So you ask me whether or not she still lives. And I say to you that I do not know; only I judge by the boasting of that vile Erie Cat that she has bought her life of them by dreaming for their Red Priest. And if she has done this thing, and has deceived them until this day, then it is very plain to me that they believe her to be a witch. For it is true, Loskiel, that those who dream wield heavy influences among all Indians--and among the Iroquois in particular. Yet, with all this, I doubt not that, if she truly be alive, her life hangs by a single thread, ever menaced by the bloody knife of Amochol."
"I can not understand," said I, "why she sent out no appeal during her long captivity. Before this war broke, had her messengers to Lois gone to Sir William Johnson, or to Guy Johnson, with word that the Senecas held in their country a white woman captive, she had been released within a fortnight, I warrant you!"
"Loskiel, had that appeal gone out, and a belt been sent to Catharines-town from Johnstown or Guy Park, the Senecas would have killed her instantly and endured the consequences--even though Amherst himself was thundering on their Western Gate."
"Are you sure, Mayaro?"
"Certain, Loskiel. She could not have lived a single moment after the Senecas learned that she had sent out word of her captivity. That is their law, which even Amochol could not break."
"It was a mercy that our little Lois appealed not to His Excellency, so that the word ran through Canada by flag to Haldimand."
"She might have done this," said the Sagamore quietly. "She asked me at Poundridge how this might be accomplished. But when I made it clear to her that it meant her mother's death, she said no more about it."
"But pushed on blindly by herself," I exclaimed, "braving the sombre Northland forests with her little ragged feet--half naked, hungry, friendless, and alone, facing each terror calmly, possessed only of her single purpose! O Sagamore of a warrior clan that makes a history of brave deeds done, can you read in the records of your most ancient wampum a braver history than this?"
He said: "Let what this maid has done be written in the archives of the white men, where are gathered the records of brave but unwise deeds. So shall those who come after you know how to praise and where to pity our little rosy pigeon of the forest. No rash young warrior of my own people, bound to the stake itself can boast of greater bravery than this. And you, blood-brother to a Siwanois, shall witness what I say."
After a silence I said: "They must have passed Wyoming already. At this hour our little Lois may be secure under the guns of Easton. Do you not think so, Mayaro?"
As he made no answer, I glanced around at him and found him staring fixedly at the trail below us.
"What do you see on our back-trail?" I whispered.
"A man, Loskiel--if it be not a deer."
A moment and I also saw something moving far below us among the trees. As yet it was only a mere spot in the dim light of the trail, slowly ascending the height of land. Nearer, nearer it came, until at length we could see that it was a man. But no rifle slanted across his shoulder.
"He must be one of our own people," I said, puzzled. "Somebody sends us a messenger. Is he white or Indian?"
"White," said the Sagamore briefly, his eyes still riveted on the approaching figure, which now I could see was clothed in deerskin shirt and leggins.
"He carries neither pack nor rifle; only a knife and pouch. He is a wood-running fool!" I said, disgusted. "Why do they send us such a forest-running battman, when they have Oneidas at headquarters, and Coureurs-de-Bois to spare who understand their business?"
"I make nothing of him," murmured the Mohican, his eyes fairly glittering with excitement and perplexity.
"Is he, perhaps, some fugitive from Butler's rangers?" I whispered, utterly at a loss to account for such a silly spectacle. "The pitiful idiot! Did you ever gaze upon the like, Mayaro--unless he be some French mission priest. Otherwise, yonder walks the greatest of God's fools!"
"Then he is easily taken," muttered Mayaro. "Fix thy flint, Loskiel, and prime. Here is a business I do not understand."
Once the man halted and looked up at our ledge of rock, where the last sun rays still lingered, then lightly continued the ascent. And I, turning to the Mohican for some possible explanation of this amazing sight, ere we crept out to closer ambush, found Mayaro staring through the trees with a glassy and singular expression which changed swiftly to astonishment, and then to utter blankness.
"Etho!" he exclaimed, bluntly, springing to his feet behind the nearer trees, regardless whether or not the stranger saw him. "Go forward now, Loskiel. This is a fool's business--and badly begun. Now, let a white man's wisdom finish it."
I, too, had risen in surprise, stepping backward also, in order that the trees might screen me. And at the same moment the stranger rounded the jutting shoulder of our crag, and came suddenly face to face with me in midtrail.
"Euan!"
So astounded was I that my rifle fell clattering from my nerveless hand as she sprang forward and caught my shoulders with both her hands. And I saw her grey eyes filling and her lips quivering with words she could not utter.
"Lois!" I repeated, as though stupefied. "Lois!"
"Oh, Euan! Euan! I thought I would never, never come up with you!" she whimpered. "I left the batteau where it touched at Towanda Creek, and hid in the woods and dressed me in the Oneida dress you gave me. Then, by the first batt-man who passed, I sent a message to Lana saying that I was going back to--to join you. Are you displeased?"
Her trembling hands clasped my shoulders tighter, and her face drew closer, so that her sweet, excited breath fell on my cheek.
"Listen!" she stammered. "I desire to tell you everything! I will tell you all, Euan! I ran back along the trail, meeting the boat-guard, batt-men, and the sick horses all along the way to Tioga, where they took me over on a raft of logs.... I paid them three hard shillings. Then Colonel Shreve heard of what I had been about, and sent a soldier after me, but I avoided the fort, Euan, and went boldly up through the deserted camps until I came to where the army had crossed. Some teamsters mending transport wagons gave me bread and meat enough to fill my pouch; and one of them, a kindly giant, took me over the Chemung dry shod, I clinging to his broad back like a very cat--and all o' them a-laughing fit to burst!... Are you displeased, dear lad?... Then, just at night, I came up with the rear-guard, where they were searching for strayed cattle; and I stowed myself away in a broken-down wagon, full of powder--quietly, like a mouse, no one dreaming that I was not the slender youth I looked. So none molested me where I lay amid the powder casks and sacking."
She smiled wistfully, and stood caressing my arms with her eager little hands, as though to calm the wrath to come.
"I heard your regiment's pretty conch-horn in the morning," she said, "and slipped out of my wagon and edged forward amid all that swearing, sweating confusion, noticed not at all by anybody, save when a red-head Jersey sergeant bawled at me to man a rope and haul at the mired cannon with the others. But I was deaf just then, Euan, and got free o' them with nothing worse than a sound cursing from the sergeant; and away across the creek I legged it, where I hid in the bush until the firing began and the horrid shouting on the ridge. Then it was that, badly scared, I crept through the Indian grass like a hunted hare, and saw Lieutenant Boyd there, and his men, halted across the trail. And very soon our cannon began, and then it was that I saw you and your Indians filing out to the right. So I followed you. Oh, Euan, are you very angry? Because, dear lad, I have had so lonely a trail, what with keeping clear of your party so that you might not catch me and send me back, and what with losing you after you had left the main, trodden trail! Save for the marks you left on trees, I had been utterly lost--and must have perished, no doubt----" She looked at me with melting eyes.
"Think on that, Euan, ere you grow too angry and are cruel with me."
"Cruel? Lois, you have been more heartless than I ever----"
"There! I knew it! Your anger is about to burst its dreadful bounds----"
"Child! What is there to say or do now? What is there left for me, save to offer you what scant protection I may--good God!--and take you forward with us in the morning? This is a cruel, unmerited perplexity you have caused me, Lois. What unkind inspiration prompted you to do this rash, mad, foolish thing! How could you so conduct? What can you hope to accomplish in all this wicked and bloody business that now confronts us? How can I do my duty--how perform it to the letter--with you beside me--with my very heart chilling to water at thought of your peril----"
"Hush, dearest lad," she whispered, tightening her fingers on my sleeve. "All in the world I care for lies in this place where we now stand--or near it. Have I not told you that I must go to Catharines-town? How could I remain behind when every tie I have in all the world was tugging at my heart to draw me hither? You ask me what I can do--what I can hope to accomplish. God knows--but my mother and my lover are here--and how could I stay away if there was a humble chance that I might do some little thing to aid her--to aid you, Euan?
"Why do you scowl at me? Try me, Test me. I am tough as an Indian youth, strong and straight and supple--and as tireless. See--I am not wearied with the trail! I am not afraid. I can do what you do. If you fast I can fast, too; when you go thirsty I can endure it also; and you may not even hope to out-travel me, Euan, for I am innured to sleeplessness, to hunger, to fatigue, by two years' vagabondage--hardened of limb and firm of body, self-taught in self-denial, in quiet endurance, in stealth, and patience. Oh, Euan! Make me your comrade, as you would take a younger brother, to school him in the hardy ways of life you know so well! I will be no burden to you; I will serve you humbly and faithfully; prove docile, obedient, and grateful to the end. And if the end comes in the guise of death--Euan--Euan! Why may I not share that also with you? For the world's joy dies when you die, and my body might as well die with it!"
So eager and earnest her argument, so tightly she clung to my arms, so pleading and sweet her ardent face, upturned, with the tears scarcely dry under her lashes, that I found nought to answer her, and could only look into her eyes--deep, deep into those grey-blue wells of truth--troubled to silence by her present plight and mine.
I could not take her back now, and also keep my tryst with Boyd at Catharines-town. I could not leave her here by this trail, even guarded--had I the guards to spare--for soon in our wake would come thundering the maddened debris of the Chemung battle, pell-mell, headlong through the forests, desperate, with terror leading and fury lashing at their heels.
I laid my hands heavily upon her firm, young shoulders, and strove to think the while I studied her; but the enchantment of her confused my mind, and I saw only the crisp and clustering curls, and clear, young eyes looking into mine, and the lips scarce parted, hanging breathless on my words.
"O boy-girl comrade!" I said in a low, unsteady voice. "Little boy-girl born to do endless mischief in this wide and wind-swept forest world of men! What am I to say to you, who have your will of everyone beneath the sun? Who am I to halt the Starry Dancers, or bar your wayward trail when Tharon himself has hidden you, and the Little People carry to you 'winged moccasins for flying feet as light and swift!' For truly I begin to think it has been long since woven in the silvery and eternal wampum--belt after belt, string twisted around string--that you shall go to Catharines-town unscathed.
"Where she was born returns the rosy Forest Pigeon to her native tree for mating. White-Throat--White-Throat--your course is flown! For this is Amochol's frontier; and by tomorrow night we enter Catharines-town--thou and I, little Lois--two Hidden Children--one hidden by the Western Gate, one by the Eastern Gate's dark threshold, 'hidden in the husks.'...How shall it be with us now, O little rosy spirit of the home-wood? My Indians will ask. What shall I say to them concerning you?"
"All laws break of themselves before us twain, who, having been hidden, are prepared for mating--where we will--and when.... And if the long flight be truly ended--and the home forests guard our secret--and if Tharon be God also--and His stars the altar lights--and his river-mist my veil----" She faltered, and her clear gaze became confused. "Why should your Indians question you?" she asked.
The last ray of the sun reddened the forest, lingered, faded, and went out in ashes. I said:
"God and Tharon are one. Priest and Sagamore, clergyman and Sachem, minister, ensign, Roya-neh--red men or white, all are consecrated before the Master of Life. If in these Indians' eyes you are still to remain sacred, then must you promise yourself to me, little Lois. And let the Sagamore perform the rite at once."
"Betroth myself, Euan?"
"Yes, under the Rite of the Hidden Children. Will you do this--so that my Indians can lay your hands upon their hearts? Else they may turn from you now--perhaps prove hostile."
"I had desired to have you take me from my mother's arms."
"And so I will, in marriage--if she be alive to give you."
"Then--what is this we do?"
"It is our White Bridal."
"Summon the Sagamore," she said faintly.
And so it was done there, I prompting her with her responses, and the mysterious rite witnessed by the priesthood of two nations--Sachem and Sagamore, Iroquois and Algonquin, with the tall lodge-poles of the pines confirming it, and the pale ghost-flowers on the moss fulfilling it, and the stars coming one by one to nail our lodge door with silver nails, and the night winds, enchanted, chanting the Karenna of the Uncut Corn.
And now the final and most sacred symbol of betrothal was at hand; and the Oneida Sachem drew away, and the Yellow Moth and the Night Hawk stood aside, with heads quietly averted, leaving the Sagamore alone before us. For only a Sagamore of the Enchanted Clan might stand as witness to the mystery, where now the awful, viewless form of Tharon was supposed to stand, white winged and plumed, and robed like the Eight Thunders in snowy white.
"Listen, Loskiel," he said, "my younger brother, blood-brother to a Siwanois. Listen, also, O Rosy-Throated Pigeon of the Woods--home from the unseen flight to mate at last!"
He plucked four ghost-flowers, and cast the pale blossoms one by one to the four great winds.
"O untainted winds that blow the Indian corn," he said, "winds of the wilderness, winds of the sounding skies--clean and pure as ye are, not one of you has blown the green and silken blankets loose from these, our Hidden Children, nestling unseen, untouched, unstained, close cradled in a green embrace. Nor wind, nor rain, nor hail, not the fierce heat of many summers have revealed these Hidden Ones, stripped them of the folded verdure that conceals them still, each wrapped within the green leaves of the corn.
"Continue to listen, winds of the sounding skies. Let the Eight White-plumed Thunders listen. An ensign of the Magic Clan bears witness under Tharon. A Sagamore veils his face. Let Tharon hear these children when they speak. Let Tamenund listen!"
Standing straight and tall there in the starlight, he drew his blanket across his eyes. The Oneidas and the Stockbridge did the same.
Slowly, timidly, in compliance with my whispered bidding, the slender, trembling hands of Lois unlaced my throat-points to the shoulder, baring my chest. Then she said aloud, but in a voice scarce audible, I prompting every word:
"It is true! Under the folded leaves a Hidden Youth is sleeping. I bid him sleep awhile. I promise to disturb no leaf. This is the White Bridal. I close what I have scarcely parted. I bid him sleep this night. When--when----"
I whispered, prompting her, and she found her voice, continuing:
"When at his lodge door they shall come softly and lay shadows to bar it, a moon to seal it, and many stars to nail it fast, then, in the dark within, I shall hear the painted quiver rattle as he puts it off; and the antlers fall clashing to the ground. Only the green and tender cloak of innocence shall endure--a little while--then, falling, enfold us twain embraced where only one had slept before. A promised bride has spoken."
She bowed her head, took my hands in hers, laid them lightly on her heart; then straightened up, with a long-drawn, quivering breath, and stood, eyes closed, as I unlaced her throat-points, parting the fawn-skin cape till the soft thrums lay on her snowy shoulders.
"It is true," I whispered. "Under the folded leaves a Hidden Maid lies sleeping. I bid her sleep awhile; I bid her dream in innocence through this White Bridal night. I promise to disturb no leaf that sheathes her. I now refold and close again what I have scarcely touched and opened. I bid her sleep.
"When on my lodge door they nail the Oneida stars, and seal my door with the moon of Tharon, and lay long shadows there to bar it; then I, within the darkness there, shall hear the tender rustle of her clinging husks, parting to cradle two where one alone had slept since she was born."
Gently I drew the points, closing the cape around her slender throat, knotted the laces, smoothed out the thrums, took her small hands and laid them on my breast.
One by one the stately Indians came to make their homage, bending their war-crests proudly and placing her hands upon their painted breasts. Then they went away in silence, each to his proper post, no doubt. Yet, to be certain, I desired to make my rounds, and bade Lois await me there. But I had not proceeded three paces when lo! Of a sudden she was at my side, laughing her soft defiance at me in the darkness.
"No orders do I take save what I give myself," she said. "Which is no mutiny, Euan, and no insubordination either, seeing that you and I are one--or are like to be when the brigade chaplain passes--if the Tories meddle not with his honest scalp! Come! Honest Euan, shall we make our rounds together? Or must I go alone?"
And she linked her arm in mine and put one foot forward, looking up at me with all the light mischief of the very boy she seemed in her soft rifle-dress and leggins, and the bright hair crisply curling 'round her moleskin cap.
"Have a care of the trees, then, little minx," I said.
"Pooh! Can you not see in the dark?"
"Can you?"
"Surely. When you and I went to the Spring Waiontha, I needed not your lantern light to guide me."
"I see not well by night," I admitted.
"You do see well by night--through my two eyes! Are we not one? How often must I repeat it that you and I are one! One! One! O Loskiel--stealer of hearts, if you could only know how often on my knees I am before you--how truly I adore, how humbly, scarcely daring to believe my heart that tells me such a tale of magic and enchantment--after these barren, loveless years. Mark! Yonder stands the Grey-Feather! Is that his post?"
"Wonder-eyes, I see him not! Wait--aye, you are right. And he is at his post. Pass to the left, little minx."
And so we made the rounds, finding every Indian except the Sagamore at his post. He lay asleep. And after we had returned to our southern ledge of rock, and I had spread my blanket for her and laid my pack to pillow her, I picked up my rifle and rose from my knees.
"And you?" she asked.
"I stand guard across the trail below."
"Why? When all except the Siwanois are watching! The Night Hawk is there. Stretch yourself here beside me and try to sleep. Your watch will come too soon to suit you, or me either, for that matter."
"Do you mean to go on guard with me?"
"Do you dream that I shall let you stand your guard alone, young sir?"
"This is folly, Lois--"
"Euan, you vex me. Lie beside me. Here is sufficient blanket room and pillow. And if you do not sleep presently and let me sleep too, our wits will all be sadly addled when they summon us."
So I stretched myself out beside her and looked up, open eyed, into darkness.
"Sleep well," she whispered, smothering a little laugh.
"Sleep safely, Lois."
"That is why I desired you--so I might sleep safely, knowing myself safe when you are, too. And you are safe only when you are at my side. Do you follow my philosophy?"
I said presently: "This is our White Bridal, Lois. The ceremony completes itself by dawn."
"Save that the Sagamore is but a heathen priest, truly I feel myself already wedded to you, so solemn was our pretty rite.... Dare you kiss me, Euan? You never have. Christians betrothed may kiss each other once, I think."
"Not such as we--if the rite means anything to us."
"Why?"
"Not on the White Bridal night--if we regard this rite as sacred."
"I feel its sacredness. That is why I thought no sin if you should kiss me--on such a night."
She sat up in her blanket; and I sat up, too.
* "Tekasenthos," she said.
[* "I am weeping."]
* "Chetena, you are laughing!"
[* "Mouse."]
* "Neah. Tekasenthos!" she insisted.
[* "No, I am weeping."]
"Why?"
"You do not love me," she remarked, kicking off one ankle moccasin.
* "Kenonwea-sasita-ha-wiyo, chetenaha!" I said, laughing.
[* "I love your beautiful foot, little mouse."]
* "Akasita? Katontats. But is that all of me you love?"
[* "My foot? I consent."]
"The other one also."
"The other one also."
* "Neah-wenh-a, O Loskiel. I shall presently slay you and go to sleep."
[* "I thank you."]
There fell a silence, then:
"Do you not know in your heart how it is with me?" I said unsteadily.
She lay down, facing me.
"In my heart I know, beloved above all men! But I am like a child with you--desiring to please, ardent, confused, unaccustomed. And everything you say delights me--and all you do--or refrain from doing--thrills me with content.... It was so true and sweet of you to leave my lips untouched. I adore you for it--but then I had adored you if you had kissed me, also. Always, your decision pleasures me."
After a long while I spoke cautiously. She lay asleep, her lips scarce parted; but in her sleep she seemed to hear my voice, for one arm stole out in the dark and closed around my neck.
And so we lay until the dark forms gliding from the forest summoned me to mount my guard, and Lois awoke with a little sigh, sat upright, then sprang to her feet to face the coming dawn alone with me.
