It seemed like a dream; horrid, fantastic,
wonderfully sweet.
Within that tiny span of hours he had come to the knowledge of Nance's
love for him. Oh those sweet, frank kisses! If he had died last night;
if the hot heads in their madness had killed him to balance Tom Hamon's
account--still he would have lived: for Nance had kissed him.
And within the half of that short span he had been judged a murderer,
had had to flee for his life, and would, without a doubt, have lost it
but for Nance.
She had undertaken a mighty risk for him--for him! And she had shown him
that she loved him, for she had kissed him with her heart in her lips.
And, grateful as he was for all the rest, it was still the recollection
of those sweet kisses that he thought of most.
So "Hope! Hope!" sang the stars, and his heart was high because his
conscience was clean and Nance had kissed him.
When at last he crawled into his burrow, his fire was only white ashes,
and he would not trouble to relight it.
He broke off a piece of bread, and ate it slowly, and thought of Nance,
and promised himself the larger breakfast.
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