She was content to see him as he was now, and to feel him quiver at the slightest touch of her light fingers.

And while her eyes looked sadly at the southern stars a faint smile seemed to be playing about her firm lips.

Who can tell in the fitful light of a camp fire?
It might have been a smile of triumph, or of conscious power, or of tender pity, or, perhaps, of love.
She spoke softly to him, and he rose to his feet, putting his arm round her in quiet consciousness of his ownership; she laid her head on his shoulder with a sense of defiance to all the world in the encircling protection of that arm.

He was hers with all his qualities and all his faults.

His strength and his courage, his recklessness and his daring, his simple wisdom and his savage cunning--all were hers.