Beatrice bathed the wound, bandaged it the best she could, then covered him up warmly and let him go to sleep.  And the time came at last, long past the midnight hour, that she crept once more to Ben’s side.

There was little indeed for them to say.  The stress of the night had taken from them almost all desire to talk.  But Ben took her hand in his feebly, and held it against his lips.

“We’re safe now,” Beatrice told him, her eye’s still bright with tears.  “We’ve seen it through, and we’re safe.”

Ben nodded happily.  It was true:  there was nothing further for them to fear.  With the aid of the rifles of the three fallen, they could procure meat in plenty for their remaining time at Back There; besides, the store of jerked caribou and moose was enough to hold them over.  When the rains came again, the three of them—­Neilson and Ben and Beatrice—­could glide on down to the Indian encampments in the canoe.  Thence they could reach the white settlements beyond the mountains.

Her glance into the future went still farther, because she knew certain news that as yet Ben had not heard.  She had heard from Ray’s lips that night that Ben’s claim had been legally filed; he had only to return and take possession.  It straightened out the future, promised success in the battle of life, gave him an interest to hold him in these northern forests.  But she would not tell him to-night.  It could wait for a more quiet hour.

Presently she saw that he was trying to speak to her, whispering; trying to draw her ear down to his lips.  She smiled, with an infinite tenderness.  Dimly though he spoke, she heard him every word.

“I love you,” he told her simply.  He watched her face, as intently as the three Wise Men watched the East, for a sign.  And he saw it, clear and ineffably wonderful, in the stars that came into her eyes.

“I love you,” she answered, with equal simplicity.  They lay a while in silence, blissful in this wonder each had for the other, wholly content just that their hands and lips should touch.

The same miracle was upon them both; and the girl’s thought, ranging far, seized upon a deep and moving discovery.  “All this belongs to us,” she told him, indicating with one movement of her arm the boundless solitudes about them.  “This is our own country, isn’t it, Ben?  We can’t ever—­go away.”

It was true:  they could never leave the forest for long.  They were its children, bred in the bone.  Their strong thews would waste in a gentler land.  It was their heritage.  They must not go where they could not behold the dark line of the forest against the sky.

The fire burned down.  The moon wheeled through the sky.  The tall spruce saw the dawn afar and beckoned.

THE END.