By the swamp the gray ghosts fell to dancing with locked, transparent
hands.
Blood-red the sun glimmered through the pines and struck fire from a
gray, cold world.
Philip bent and caught her hands, quietly masterful.
"What you may think, Diane," he said unsteadily, "I do not know. But
part of the answer to every question is my love for you. No--you must
listen! We have crossed swords and held a merry war, but through it
all ran the strong thread of friendship. We must not break it now. Do
you know what I thought that day on the lake when I saw you coming
through the trees? I said, I have found her! God willing, here is the
perfect mate with whom I must go through life, hand in hand, if I am to
live fully and die at the last having drained the cup of life to the
bottom. If, knowing this, you can not trust me and will tell me so--"
But Ronador's eloquent voice rang again in the girl's ears. Her glance
met Philip's inexorably. And there was something in her eyes that hurt
him cruelly. For an instant his face flamed scarlet, then it grew
white and hard and very grim.
"Go!" said Diane and buried her face in her hands.
With no final word of extenuation Philip went.
Diane stumbled hurriedly through the trees to Keela's camp and touched
the Indian girl frantically upon the shoulder.
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