a dark heap on the ground. Quickly he was by
her side, and, kneeling, he gathered her in his arms. He forgot all
but that she was living and that he held her, and he kissed her white
face and her lips, and said all the tender things in his heart. He did
not know what he was saying. He only knew that he could feel her heart
beat, and that she was opening her eyes, and that with quivering arms
she clasped his neck, and that her tears wet his cheek, and that, over
and over, her lips were repeating his name.

"'Arry--'Arry King! You are come back. Ah, 'Arry King, my heart cry
with the great gladness they have not killed you."

All in the same instant he bethought himself that he must not caress
her thus. Yet filled with a gladness he could not fathom he still
clung to her and still murmured the words he meant never to speak to
her. One thing he could do. One thing sweet and right to do. He could
carry her to the cabin. How could she reach it else? His heart leaped
that he had at least that right.

"No, 'Arry King. You have walk the long, hard way, and are very
weary." But still he carried her.

"Put me down, 'Arry King." Then he obeyed her, and set her gently
down. "I am too great a burden. See, thus? If you help me a little--it
is that I may hop--It is better, is not?"

She smiled in his face, but he only stooped and lifted her again in
his arms. "You are not a burden, Amalia. Put your arms around my neck,
and lean on me."

She obeyed him, and he could say no more for the beating of his heart.
Carefully and slowly he made his way, setting his feet cautiously
among the stones that obstructed his path. Madam Manovska from her
heights above saw how her daughter was being carried, and, guessing
the trouble, snatched up the velvet bag Amalia had dropped in her
haste, flung her cloak about her, and began to thread her way down,
slowly and carefully; for, as she said to herself, "We must not both
break the bones at one time."

To Harry it seemed no sound was ever sweeter than Amalia's low voice
as she coaxed him brokenly to set her down and allow her to walk.

"This is great foolishness, 'Arry King, that you carry me. Put me down
that you rest a little."

"I can't, Amalia."

"You have walk all the long trail--I saw you walk--and lead those
horse, for only to bring our box. How my heart can thank you is not
possible. 'Arry King, you are so weary--put me down."

"I can't, Amalia," again was all he said. So he held he