“Sweetheart,” he said softly, his great voice, rich and mellow although it hardly rose above a whisper, “my only sweetheart, not for all the love in the world would I make it hard for you.  Not for all your love would I even attempt to leave you with one memory that is not all that is sweet and noble.  Only in these days I want you to learn all there is in my heart, as I must learn all that is in yours.  For, after that, Diana, we must never see each other again.”

Diana freed one of her hands and brushed the tumbled hair from Enoch’s forehead.

“Do you realize,” he said, quietly, “that in all the years of my memory no woman has caressed me so?  I am starved, Diana, for just such a gentle touch as that.”

“Then you shall be starved no more, dearest.  Sit down in the sand before me and lean your head against my knee.  There!” as Enoch turned and obeyed her.  “Now we can both look out at the stars and I can smooth your hair.  What a mass of it you have, Enoch!  And you must have been a real carrot top when you were a little boy.”

“I was an ugly brat,” said Enoch, comfortably.  “A red-headed, freckled-faced, awkward brat!  And unhappy and disagreeable as I was ugly.”

“It seems so unfair!” Diana smoothed the broad forehead, tenderly.  “I had such a happy childhood.  I didn’t go to school until I was twelve.  Until then I lived the life of a little Indian, out of doors, taking the trail trips with dad or geologizing with mother.  I don’t know how many horses and dogs I had.  Their number was limited only by what mother and father felt they could afford to feed.”

“There was nothing unfair in your having had all the joy that could be crammed into your childhood,” protested Enoch.  “Nature and circumstance were helping to make you what you are.  I don’t see that anything could have been omitted.  Listen, Diana.”

Plaintively from below rose Na-che’s voice in a slow sweet chant.  Jonas’s baritone hesitatingly repeated the strain, and after a moment they softly sang it together.

“Oh, this is perfect!” murmured Enoch.  “Perfect!” Then he drew Diana’s hand to his lips.

How long they sat in silence listening to the wistful notes that floated up to them, neither could have told.  But when the singing finally ceased, Diana, with a sudden shiver said,

“Enoch, I want to go back to the camp.”

Enoch rose at once, with a rueful little laugh.  “Our first precious evening is ended, and we’ve said nothing!”

“Nothing!” exclaimed Diana.  “Enoch, what was there left to say when I could touch your hair and forehead so?  We can talk on the trail.”

“Starlight and you and Na-che’s little song,” murmured Enoch; “I am hard to satisfy, am I not?” He put his arms about Diana and kissed her softly, then let her lead the way down to the spring.  And shortly, rolled in his blankets, his feet to the dying fire, Enoch was deep in sleep.