nris had read his master's thought. He lay
supine, his eyes intent on Ben's rugged face.

And now, for the first time, Ben found himself regarding Beatrice. He
could scarcely take his eyes from her face. He knew perfectly that he
was staring rudely, but he was without the power to turn his eyes. Her
dark eyes fell under his gaze.

The truth was that Ben's life had been singularly untouched by the
influence of women. Mostly his life had been spent in the unpeopled
forest, away from women of all kinds; and such creatures as had admired
him in Seattle's underworld had never got close to him. He had had many
dreams; but some way it had never been credible to him that he should
ever know womanhood as a source of comradeship and happiness. Love and
marriage had always seemed infinitely apart from his wild, adventurous
life.

In his days in prison he had given up all dream of this happiness; but
now he could begin to dream again. Everything was changed now that he
had come home. The girl's regard for him was friendly, even somewhat
admiring, and the speculations of ripening womanhood were in her eyes.
He returned her gaze with frankest interest and admiration. His senses
had been made sharp in his wilderness life; and his respect for her grew
apace. She was not only innocent and girlish; she had those traits,
innate, that a strong man loves in women: such worth and depth of
character as he wishes bequeathed to his children.

Ben drew a long breath. It was good to be home. He had not only found
his forests, just as he had left them, but now again he was among the
forest people. This girl was of his own breed, not a stranger; her
standards were his; she was a woods girl no less than he was a woodsman.
It is good to be among one's own people, those who can follow through
and understand. She too knew the urge of unbridled vitality and spirit,
common to all the woods children; and life's vivid meaning was her
inheritance, no less than his. Her arms and lips were warm from
fast-flowing blood, her nerves were vibrant and singing like his own. A
virgin still, her eyes were tender with the warmheartedness that is such
a dominant trait of frontier peoples; but what fire, what passion might
burn in them to-morrow! They were dark, lovely eyes, rather somber now
in their earnestness, seeming shadowed by the dark shadows of the spruce
themselves.

No human face had ever given him such an image of beauty as that of this
dark-eyed fores