The cudgel dropped from the girl's hands and she lifted them to her face, covering her eyes.
Taylor was beside her. She heard his excited questions, felt his hand on her arm.
"Milt turned her loose," she said brokenly. "He turned her loose on your trail—He said you—He said that you would come back—and he didn't want you to come back—ever—"
He was so still that she lowered her hands and looked up.
"He said that I would come back?" he asked steadily. She nodded, mute before his manner. He took one of her hands in his roughly and something like great rage swept into his eyes. "And you came after me, to save me from Pauguk?"
"Y-yes," very lightly.
"Why did you do that?" hoarse voice rising in pitch.
"She'd have killed you!"
"Yes—And then—?"
"Killed you, John—And then you never could have come back!"
She felt the grip of his hand relax; a great breath slipped from him.
"You wanted me back?" he whispered. "Wanted me back—after all?"
"Oh, I wanted you back because of all, John! Because I—because I—Can't you see that I—"
His arms, binding about her body, drove the word from her lips—against his lips—and she was crying for the first time in those weeks of distress, because there was no distress then, no misgiving, no unhappiness, and she could cry—for the happiness that swelled in her heart.
