He held her hand as he groped his way to where he had seen Bram’s supply of bear-dips.  She held two of the candles while he lighted them and their yellow flare illumined her face while his own was still in shadow.  What he saw in its soft glow and the shine of her eyes made him almost take her in his arms again, candles and all.  And then she turned with them and went to the table.  He continued to light candles until the sputtering glow of half a dozen of them filled the room.  It was a wretched wastefulness, but it was also a moment in which he felt himself fighting to get hold of himself properly.  And he felt also the desire to be prodigal about something.  When he had lighted his sixth candle, and then faced Celie, she was standing near the table looking at him so quietly and so calmly and with such a wonderful faith in her eyes that he thanked God devoutly he had kissed her only once—­just that once!  It was a thrilling thought to know that she knew he loved her.  There was no doubt of it now.  And the thought of what he might have done in that darkness and in the moment of her helplessness sickened him.  He could look her straight in the eyes now—­ unashamed and glad.  And she was unashamed, even if a little flushed at what had happened.  The same thought was in their minds —­and he knew that she was not sorry.  Her eyes and the quivering tremble of a smile on her lips told him that.  She had braided her hair in that interval when she had gone to her room, and the braid had fallen over her breast and lay there shimmering softly in the candle-glow.  He wanted to take her in his arms again.  He wanted to kiss her on the mouth and eyes.  But instead of that he took the silken braid gently in his two hands and crushed it against his lips.

“I love you,” he cried softly.  “I love you.”

He stood for a moment or two with his head bowed, the thrill of her hair against his face.  It was as if he was receiving some kind of a wonderful benediction.  And then in a voice that trembled a little she spoke to him.  Before he could see fully what was in her eyes she turned suddenly to the wall, took down his coat, and hung it over the window.  When he saw her face again it was gloriously flushed.  She pointed to the candles.

“No danger of that,” he said, comprehending her.  “They won’t throw any javelins in this storm.  Listen!”

It was the wolves again.  In a moment their cry was drowned in a crash of the storm that smote the cabin like a huge hand.  Again it was wailing over them in a wild orgy of almost human tumult.  He could see its swift effect on Celie in spite of her splendid courage.  It was not like the surge of mere wind or the roll of thunder.  Again he was inspired by thought of his pocket atlas, and opened it at the large insert map of Canada.