He had been kind to her.
Why had this scourge of the mountain-desert spared her? Was it to
track down Pierre?
It was at this time that she heard the purl and whisper of running
water, a sound dear to the hearts of all travelers. She veered to the
left and found the little grove of trees with a thick shrubbery
growing between, fed by the water of that diminutive brook. She
dismounted and tethered the horses.
By this time she had seen enough of camping out to know how to make
herself fairly comfortable, and she set about it methodically,
eagerly. It was something to occupy her mind and keep out a little of
that burning sense of shame. One picture it could not obliterate, and
that was the scene of Jacqueline and Pierre le Rouge laughing together
over the love affair with the silly girl of the yellow hair.
That was the meaning, then, of those silences that had come between
them? He had been thinking, remembering, careful lest he should forget
a single scruple of the whole ludicrous affair. She shuddered,
remembering how she had fairly flung herself into his arms.
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