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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Courage of Marge O'Doone"

With her hand in his he struck down into the valley.
"A great justice has overtaken them," he said, and that was all he told
her about the cabin, and she asked him no questions.
At the edge of the green meadows they stopped where a trickle of water
from the mountain tops had formed a deep pool. David followed this
trickle a little up the _coulee_ it had worn in the course of ages,
found a sheltered spot, and stripped himself. To the waist he was
covered with the stain and grime of battle. In the open pool Marge
bathed her face and arms, and then sat down to finish her toilet with
David's comb and brush. When he returned to her she was a radiant glory,
hidden to her waist in the gold and brown fires of her disentangled
hair. It was wonderful. He stood a step off and looked at her, his heart
filled with a wonderful joy, his lips silent. The thought surged upon
him now in an overmastering moment of exultation that she belonged to
him, not for to-day, or to-morrow, but for all time; that the mountains
had given her to him; that among the flowers and the wild things that
"great, good God," of whom Father Roland had spoken so often, had
created her for him; and that she had been waiting for him here, pure as
the wild violets under his feet.


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