Through the weary night the two men, when not taking their turn on guard, sat and talked with Noreen in the drawing-room. For the girl refused to go to bed and, only to content them, lay back on a settee.
When she and Dermot were left alone she sighed and said:
“Ah, my beautiful forest! I must say good-bye to it. How I have enjoyed the happy days in it.”
“Some of them were too exciting to be pleasant,” he replied smiling.
“But the others made up for them. I like to think of you in the forest best,” she said dreamily. “We were real friends there.”
“And elsewhere, I hope.”
“No. In Darjeeling you didn’t like me.”
“I did. Tonight I can be frank and tell you that I was glad to go to it because you were there.”
She looked at him wonderingly.
“But you wouldn’t take any notice of me there,” she said.
“No. I was told that you were engaged, or practically engaged, to Charlesworth, and disliked any one else taking up your time.”
She sat up indignantly.
“To Captain Charlesworth? How absurd! I suppose I’ve Ida to thank for that. I wouldn’t have married him for anything.”
“Is that so? What a game of cross-purposes life is! But that’s why I didn’t try to speak to you much.”
“Did you want to? I thought you disliked me. And it hurt me so much. Do you know, I used to cry about it sometimes. I wanted you to be my friend.”
He walked over to her settee.
“Noreen, dear, I wanted to be your friend and you to be mine,” he said, looking down at her. “I liked you so much. At least, I thought I liked you.”
“And—and don’t you?” she asked, looking up at him.
He knelt beside her.
“No, little friend, I don’t like you. Because I—” He paused.
“What?” she whispered faintly.
“I love you, dear. Do you think it absurd?”
She was silent for a moment. Then she looked slowly up at him; and in her eyes he read her answer.
“Sweetheart! Little sweetheart!” he whispered, and held out his arms to her.
With a little cry she crept into them; and he pressed her to his heart. At that moment enemies, danger, death, were forgotten. For Noreen her whole world lay within the circle of his arms.
“Do you really, really love me?” she asked wonderingly.
He held her very close to his heart and looked fondly, tenderly down into the lovely upturned face.
“Love you, my dearest? I love you with all my heart, my soul, my being,” he whispered. “How could I help loving you?”
And bending down he kissed her fondly.
“It’s all so wonderful,” she murmured. “I didn’t think that you cared for me, that you could ever care. You seemed so far away, too occupied with important things to spare a thought for me. So serious a person, and sometimes so stern, that I was afraid of you.”