Brant rose to his feet, and stood looking down upon her bowed head, her
slender figure shaken by sobs. Whatever it might prove to be, this
mysterious shadow of a dead man, there could be no doubting what it now
meant to her. His eyes were filled with a love unutterable.
"Naida, as you have asked it, I will go; but I go better, stronger,
because I have heard your lips say you love me. I am going now, my
sweetheart, but if I live, I shall come again. I know nothing of what
you mean about a dead man being between us, but I shall know when I
come back, for, dead or alive, no man shall remain between me and the
girl I love."
"This--this is different," she sobbed, "different; it is beyond your
power."
"I shall never believe so until I have faced it for myself, nor will I
even say good-bye, for, under God, I am coming back to you."
He turned slowly, and walked away. As his hand touched the latch of
the door he paused and looked longingly back.
"Naida."
She glanced up at him.
"You kissed me once; will you again?"
She rose silently and crossed over to him, her hands held out, her eyes
uplifted to his own. Neither spoke as he drew her gently to him, and
their lips met.
"Say it once more, sweetheart?"
"Donald, I love you."
A moment they stood thus face to face, reading the great lesson of
eternity within the depths of each other's eyes. Then slowly, gently,
she released herself from the clasp of his strong arms.
"You believe in me now? You do not go away blaming me?" she
questioned, with quivering lips.
"There is no blame, for you are doing what you think right. But I am
coming back, Naida, little woman; coming back to love and you."
An hour later N Troop trotted across the rude bridge, and circled the
bluff, on its way toward the wide plains. Brant, riding ahead of his
men, caught a glimpse of something white fluttering from an open window
of the yellow house fronting the road. Instantly he whipped off his
campaign hat, and bowing to the saddle pommel, rode bareheaded out of
sight. And from behind the curtain Naida watched the last horseman
round the bluff angle, riding cheerfully away to hardship, danger, and
death, her eyes dry and despairing, her heart scarcely beating. Then
she crept across the narrow room, and buried her face in the coverlet
of the bed.