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girl held out her arms, and Kent heard the low, thrilling cry that came to her lips. She had forgotten him. She had forgotten everything but the river, the forests, and the untrod worlds beyond them, and he was glad. For this world that she was welcoming, that her soul was crying out to, was his world, for ever and ever. It held his dreams, his hopes, all the desires that he had in life. And when at last Marette turned toward him slowly, his arms were reaching out to her, and in his face she saw that same glory which filled her own. "I'm glad--glad," she cried softly. "Oh, Jeems--I'm glad!" She came into his arms without hesitation; her hands stroked his face; and then she stood with her head against his shoulder, looking ahead, breathing deeply now of the sweet, clear air filled with the elixir of the hovering forests. She did not speak, or move, and Kent remained quiet. The scow drifted around a bend. Shoreward a great moose splashed up out of the water, and they could hear him afterward, crashing through the forest. Her body tensed, but she did not speak. After a little he heard her whisper, "It has been a long time, Jeems. I have been away four years." "And now we are going home, little Gray Goose. You will not be lonely?" "No. I was lonely down there. There were so many people, and so many things, that I was homesick for the woods and mountains. I believe I would have died soon. There were only two things I loved, Jeems--" "What?" he asked. "Pretty dresses--and shoes." His arms closed about her a little more tightly. "I--I understand," he laughed softly. "That is why you came, that first time, with pretty high-heeled pumps." He bowed his head, and she turned her face to him. On her upturned mouth he kissed her. "More than any other man ever loved a woman I love you, Niska, little goddess," he cried. The minutes and the hours of that day stood out ever afterward in Kent's life as unforgettable memories. There were times when they seemed illusory and unreal, as though he lived and breathed in an insubstantial world made up of gossamer things which must be the fabric of dream. These were moments when the black shadow of the tragedy from which they were fleeing pressed upon him, when the thought came to him that they were criminals racing with the law; that they were not on enchanted ground, but in deadly peril; that it was all a fools' paradise from which some terrible shock would shortly a
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