She dropped down by the coals, her face in her hands.  The light was bad; he could hardly see her now.  He heard a sigh that ended in a sob.  She rose, oh, so wearily.  He saw her sway as she walked; she was throwing wood on the fire.  It caught; a flame flared out; other flames followed with their merry crackling and leaping lights.  And now he saw Gloria’s face.  It was drawn and haggard; it had been washed with tears; her eyes looked enormous and unnaturally bright.  He saw her hair; it was in wild disarray, a tumble of disorder.  He saw that she had sacks wrapped about her lagging feet; that her clothes were torn, that her sleeves were ragged, that her arms were covered with long scratches!  His first thought, making his body tense with anger, was that he had not come in time to save her from Brodie’s hands....

What was Gloria doing?  Struggling with something on her back.  Something which was tied across her shoulders.  She got it free; it fell close to the fire, played over by the light of the flames.  He craned his neck and saw; it was a great chunk of bear meat—­he could see bits of the hide still on it!

He could not understand.  Not yet.  All that he could do was stare at her and wonder and grope confusedly for the explanation.  It was clear that something was wrong with Gloria; she dropped down by the fire, she slumped forward, she lay her face upon her crossed arms.  He could see the frail body shaking—­he could hear her sudden wild sobbing.

The truth came upon him at last, dawning slowly, slowly.

“Gloria!” It was a gasp of more than amazement; consternation was in his heart. “Gloria!”

She lifted her head and sat up.  He saw her great wide-open eyes and the tears gushing from them.  She fought to control herself, a sob in her throat.  She rose and came toward him in strange, wildly uncertain steps.

“Gloria!  You——­”

“Sh, Mark; you mustn’t——­”

But he couldn’t lie still.  He lifted himself upon his elbow and looked at her with wondering eyes.  She stood over him, looking on the verge of collapse.  Slowly she came down to him, half kneeling, half falling.

“My God,” he cried hoarsely.  “You went for my bear? You did it.”

She tried to smile at him, and into his own eyes there broke a sudden gush of tears.

“You wonderful, wonderful, wonderful Gloria!” he cried out.  “There is no girl in all the world could have done that—­there is no girl like you.”

Her hand was questing his; he caught it and gripped it with all the strength in him; he hurt her, and at last, with the pain, her smile broke through.

“Gloria——­”

“Mark?”

“Can you—­not so soon, but some day—­forgive me?”

She found only a faint whisper with which to answer him; her eyes were as hungry as his.

“Can you forgive, Mark?”

And now, when their eyes clung together as their hands were already clinging, each was marvelling that the other could forgive and love one who had erred so.