Gloria, as though she felt his eyes upon her, stirred, rose, pushed the hair back from her eyes and came quickly to him.  And as she came, she smiled.  She went down on her knees beside him and took his hand in her two and held it tight.  She had never seen in his eyes a look like the one now burning in them.  She could not understand its mute message, but she spoke softly: 

“Everything is all right, Mark.  And you are better every time you wake.”

His lips strove to frame words.  She bent close to them and heard his wondering whisper: 

“Every—­thing—­all right?”

“Yes, thank God,” she whispered back to him.  “Everything in all the wide, wide world!”

No, he could not understand that.  She saw perplexity in his eyes now.  But she did not mean to let him talk yet and it was time for broth again.  But again he was whispering: 

“Blankets—­yours——­”

“Yes, Mark.  After you have had your nourishment.  When I need them.”

But when he had taken his cup of hot broth he slipped off to sleep again and Gloria, smiling a tender smile, sat by her fire watching him as a mother watches a sick baby who, the doctor has just told her, will live.

Chapter XXXII

That night Gloria, listening now to King’s breathing, now to the crackling of her fire, grew restless, restless.  Again and again she went to look out into the quiet moonlight night, across the glittering expanses of pure white glistening snow.  It was the restlessness of one who had taken a giant determination; who but awaited impatiently for the time to do what she was bent upon doing.  In her heart was still that new-born gladness; in her bosom there was still something singing like the liquid voice of a bird.  It had sung for the first time when first she had ministered to King, when she had understood what love’s service was, when she had gone down the cliffs for firewood, when, because of her tireless nursing, she had been rewarded by his opening eyes; as the hours wore on it had grown into a chant triumphant.  She, Gloria, had lived to do something that was noble and unselfish and brave; she, Gloria, had been unafraid and unswerving; she had saved a man’s life.  And that life was Mark King’s!  She had made amends; she had set her feet unfalteringly in a new trail; throughout her being she was aglow with the consciousness of one who had gladly done love’s labour.

Now she waited only for the hour when again King must have his broth.  She gave it to him, smiled at him, commanded him to go back to sleep, promising to talk with him in the morning.  And then, when again he breathed with the quiet regularity of one sleeping, she went eagerly about her task.