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 awaken him. But
these periods of apprehension were, in themselves, mere shadows thrown
for a moment upon his hap