To her it was all scent and sound. Hugh whispered to
her what this drumming meant and that chattering and that sudden
rattle almost under their feet.
They had to go slowly, Sylvie touching the trees here and there, along
her side of the trail. He lifted her over logs and fallen trees, and
sometimes, before he set her down, he kissed her. Then Sylvie would
turn her head shyly, and he would laugh. Thus they made slow, sweet
progress.
"I see more in the woods with your eyes than I ever could with my
own," she told him.
"I have eyes for us both," he answered. "That's why God gave me the
eyes I have, because He knew the use I'd be making of them."
"Is this the trail Pete follows to the trading-station?" she asked.
"I wish you could take me there, Hugh, or--would you let him take
me?"
He tightened his arm. "I can't bear to have you out of my sight,"
he answered.
She sighed. "It seems so queer that they haven't tried to find me.
Do you suppose they think that I'm dead? Did Pete mail my letter to
Miss Foby, I wonder?"
"What does Miss Foby matter?" he asked jealously. "What does anything
matter to you but--me? Here we leave Pete's trail and I take you
straight up the mountain, dear one.
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