She remembered the curious chill
which suddenly seemed to pass through her body. But she answered him
simply, earnestly.
"You mustn't blame yourself for all you've lost, Jeff," she said.
"Maybe Evie loved you better than you knew. But she--she, too, was to
blame. You must try to forget."
Then had happened something so startling that even now she could hardly
credit it. Jeff had turned away. His face was toward the hills where
the setting sun still lit the fastnesses in which lay the fateful
Spruce Crossing. His words came shortly, simply.
"I wasn't thinking of--Evie," he said. "The memory of her, of all
that, has gone--forever."
Oh, the bewilderment of that moment. Nan remembered the absurdity of
her reply now with something very like panic:
"Who--what--were you thinking of then?"
"Who--what?" The man's eyes lit with a deep, passionate yearning.
"Why, little Nan, the only person who is ever in my thoughts now--you."
It had come so simply yet so full of scarcely restrained passion.
Would she ever forget? Never, never.
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