"Joe wanted so much to hunt with Wetzel. He will come back; surely
he will return to us when he has satisfied his wild craving for
adventure. Do you not think so?"
There was an eagerness that was almost pleading in Jim's voice. What
he so much hoped for--that no harm had befallen Joe, and that he
would return--he doubted. He needed the encouragement of his hope.
"Never," answered Nell, solemnly.
"Oh, why--why do you say that?"
"I saw him look at you--a strange, intent glance. He gazed long at
me as we separated. Oh! I can feel his eyes. No; he will never come
back."
"Nell, Nell, you do not mean he went away deliberately--because, oh!
I cannot say it."
"For no reason, except that the wilderness called him more than love
for you or--me."
"No, no," returned Jim, his face white. "You do not understand. He
really loved you--I know it. He loved me, too. Ah, how well! He has
gone because--I can't tell you."
"Oh, Jim, I hope--he loved--me," sobbed Nell, bursting into tears.
"His coldness--his neglect those--last few days--hurt me--so. If he
cared--as you say--I won't be--so--miserable."
"We are both right--you when you say he will never return, and I
when I say he loved us both," said Jim sadly, as the bitter
certainty forced itself into his mind.
As she sobbed softly, and he gazed with set, stern face into the
darkening forest, the deep, mellow notes of the church bell pealed
out.
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