At every fresh find Beatrice would come triumphant into Ben’s presence; and at such times they scarcely conducted themselves like enemies.  An unguessed boyishness and charm had come to Ben in these ripe, full summer days:  the hard lines softened in his face and mostly the hard shine left his eyes.  Beatrice found herself curiously eager to please him, taking the utmost care and pains with every dish she prepared for the table; and it was true that he made the most joyful, exultant response to her efforts.  The searing heat back of his eyes was quite gone, now.  Even the scarlet fluid of his veins seemed to flow more quietly, with less fire, with less madness.  A gentling influence had come to bear upon him; a great kindness, a new forbearance had brightened his outlook toward all the world.  A great redemption was even now hovering close to him,—­some unspeakable and ultimate blessing that he could not name.

Their days were not without pleasure.  Often they ventured far into the heavy forest, and always fresh delight and thrilling adventure awaited them.  Ever they learned more of the wild things that were their only neighbors,—­creatures all the way down the scale from the lordly moose, proud of his growing antlers and monarch of the marshes, to the small pika, squeaking on the slide-rock of the high peaks.  They knew and loved them all; they found ever-increasing enjoyment in the study of their shy ways and furtive occupations; they observed with delight the droll awkwardness of the moose calves, the impertinence and saucy speech of the jays, the humor of the black bear and the surly arrogance of the grizzly.  They knew that superlative cunning of his wickedness, the wolverine; the stealth of the red fox; the ferociousness of the ermine whose brown skin, soon to be white, suggested only something silken and soft and tender instead of a fiendish cutthroat, terror of the Little People; the skulking cowardice of the coyote; and the incredible savagery and agility of the fisher,—­that middle-sized hunter that catches and kills everything he can master except fish.  They climbed high hills and descended into still, mysterious valleys; they paddled long, dreamy twilight hours on the lake; they traversed marshes where the moose wallowed; and they walked through ancient forests where the decayed vegetation was a mossy pulp under their feet.  Sometimes they forgot the poignancy of their strange lives, romping sometimes, gossiping like jays in the tree-limbs, and sometimes, forgetting enmity, they told each other their secret beliefs and philosophies.  They had picnics in the woods; and long, comfortable evenings before their dancing fire.  But there was one enduring joy that always surpassed all the rest, a happiness that seemed to have its origin in the silent places of their hearts.  It was just the return, after a fatiguing day in forest and marsh, to the sheltering walls of the cave.