As Sheila looked at him, she kept saying to herself: "He's a spirit; he isn't a man!" Dyck's eye met that of Sheila, and he saw with the same feeling what was working in her heart.
"Well, we must be going," he said to Christopher Dogan.

"We must get homeward, and we've had a good drink--the best I ever tasted.

We're proud to pay our respects to you in your own house; and goodbye to you till we meet again." His hand went out to the shoulder of the peasant and rested there for a second in friendly feeling.

Then the girl stretched out her hand also.
The old man took the two cups in one hand, and, reaching out the other, let Sheila's fingers fall upon his own.

He slowly crooked his neck, and kissed her fingers with that distinction mostly to be found among those few good people who live on the highest or the lowest social levels, or in native tents.
"Ah, please God we meet again! and that I be let to serve you, Miss Sheila Llyn.