It was Winnsome.
The girl ran up to him holding something in her hand. It was a pistol.
"You may need it!" she exclaimed. "We brought two!"
Nathaniel reached out hesitatingly, but not to take the weapon. Gently,
as though his touch was about to fall upon some fragile flower, he drew
the girl to him, took her beautiful face between his two strong hands
and gazed steadily and silently for a moment into her eyes.
"God bless you, little Winnsome!" he whispered. "I hope that someday you
will--forgive me."
The girl understood him.
"If I have anything to forgive--you are forgiven."
The pistol dropped upon the sand, her hands stole to his shoulders.
"I want you to take something to Marion for me," she whispered softly.
"This!"
And she kissed him.
Her eyes shone upon him like a benediction.
"You have given me a new life, you have given me--Neil! My prayers are
with you."
And kissing him again, she slipped away from under his hands before he
could speak.
And Nathaniel, following her with his eyes until he could no longer see
her, picked up the pistol and set off again toward the forest, the touch
of her lips and the prayers of this girl whose father he had slain
filling him with something that was more than strength, more than hope.
Life had been given to him again, strong, fighting life, and with it and
Winnsome's words there returned his old confidence, his old daring.
There was everything for him to win now. His doubts and his fears had
been swept away.
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