And I want you to be nice to me, and I want it to be our honeymoon--even if it is going to be exciting!" And with that she put her lips to his, and his last argument was gone.
Two hours later, when he went to the coulee, he was like one who had come out of a strange and disturbing and altogether glorious dream.

He had told Joanne and the Blacktons that it was necessary for him to be with MacDonald that night.

Joanne's good-night kiss was still warm on his lips, the loving touch of her hands still trembled on his face, and the sweet perfume of her hair was in his nostrils.

He was drunk with the immeasurable happiness that had come to him, every fibre in him was aquiver with it--and yet, possessed of his great joy, he was conscious of a fear; a fear that was new and growing, and which made him glad when he came at last to the little fire in the coulee.
He did not tell MacDonald the cause of this fear at first.

He told the story of Mortimer FitzHugh and Joanne, leaving no part of it unbared, until he could see Donald MacDonald's great gaunt hands clenching in the firelight, and his cavernous eyes flaming darkly through the gloom.