He was beginning to feel that he had
accepted for himself a tremendous task, and that she, not much more than
a child, had of course scarcely foreseen its possibilities. Her faith in
him was a pleasurable thing. It was absolute. He realized it more as the
hours dragged on and he sat alone by the fire. So great was it that she
was going back fearlessly to those whom she hated and feared. She was
returning not only fearlessly but with a certain defiant satisfaction.
He could fancy her saying to Hauck, and the Red Brute: "I've come back.
Now touch me if you dare!" What would he have to do to live up to that
surety of her confidence in him? A great deal, undoubtedly. And if he
won for her, as she fully expected him to win, what would he do with
her? Take her to the coast--put her into a school somewhere down south?
That was his first notion. For to him she looked more than ever like a
child as she lay asleep on her bed of balsams.
He tried to picture Brokaw. He tried to see Hauck in his mental vision,
and he thought over again all that the girl had told him about herself
and these men. As he looked at her now--a little, softly breathing thing
under his gray blanket--it was hard for him to believe anything so
horrible as she had suggested.
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