He did not touch her, except to clasp the extended hands. The loneliness of the girl, here, helpless, alone with him in that wilderness of snow, bore in upon his consciousness with a suddenness that robbed him of all sense of triumph. He had spoken passionately, recklessly, inspired by her nearness, her dependence upon him. He had faith that she cared; her eyes, her manner, had told him this, yet even now he could not realize all that was meant by that quiet confession. The iron discipline of years would not relax instantly; in spite of the boldness of his utterance, he was still the soldier, feeling the chasm of rank. Her very confession, so simply spoken, tended to confuse, to mystify him. "Do you mean," he asked eagerly, "that you love me?" "What else should I mean?" she said slowly. "It is not new to me; I have known for a long while." "That I loved you!" "Yes," smiling now. "Love is no mystery to a woman. I do not care because you are in the ranks; that is only a temporary condition. I knew you out there, at the very first, as a gentleman. I have never doubted you. Here, in this wilderness, I am not afraid. It is not because my father is dead or because he has been guilty of crime, that I say this. I would have said it before, on the balcony there in Dodge, had you asked me. It is not the uniform I love, but the man. Can you not understand?" "Will you marry me--a sergeant of cavalry?" She was still smiling, her eyes frankly looking into his own. "I will marry David Hamlin," she answered firmly, "let him be what he may." The man let out his suppressed breath in a sob of relief, his eyes brightening with triumph. "Oh, Molly! Molly!" he cried, "I cannot tell you what this all means to me. There is no past now to my life, but all future." "Am I that to you?"