Guilt, too, swept over her, for she remembered what big, handsome Dick
Wilbur had said: He would meet his end through a woman. Now it had
come to him, and through her.
She cringed at the thought, for what was she that a man should die in
her service? She raised her hands with a moan to the nodding tops of
the trees, to the vast, black sky above them, and the full knowledge
of Wilbur's strength came to her, for had he not ridden calmly,
defiantly, into the heart of this wilderness, confident in his power
to care both for himself and for her? But she! What could she do
wandering by herself? The image of Pierre le Rouge grew dim indeed and
sad and distant.
She looked about her at the pack, which had been distributed expertly,
and disposed on the ground by Wilbur. She could not even lash it in
place behind the saddle. So she drew the blanket once more around her
shoulders and sat down to think.
She might return to the house--doubtless she could find her way back.
And leave Pierre in the heart of the mountains, surely lost to her
forever.
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