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. Marion was not dead, she was not the king's wife--and it was not of another that he had accepted proof of her love for him, for he had felt the pressure of her arms about his neck and the warmth of her lips upon his face. He had until night--and the dawn was just beginning to break. Ten or fifteen miles to the north there were settlements, and between there were scores of settlers' homes and fishermen's shanties. Surely within an hour or two he would find a boat. He turned where the edge of the forest came down to meet the white water-run of the sea, and set off at a slow, steady trot into the north. If he could reach a boat soon he might overtake Marion in mid-lake. The thought thrilled him, and urged him to greater speed. As the stars faded away in the dawn he saw the dark barrier of the forest drifting away, and later, when the light broke more clearly, there stretched out ahead of him mile upon mile of desert dunes. As far as he could see there was no hope of life. He slowed his steps now, for he would need to preserve his strength. Yet he experienced no fear, no loss of confidence. Each moment added to his faith in himself. Before noon he would be on his way to the Mormon kingdom, by nightfall he would be upon its shores. After that-- He examined the pistol that Winnsome had given him. There were five shots in it and he smiled joyously as he saw that it had been loaded by an experienced hand. It would be easy enough for him to find Strang. He would not consider the woman--his wife. The king's wife! Like a flash there occurred to him the incident of the battlefield. Was it this woman--the woman who had begged him to spare the life of the prophet, who had knelt beside him, and whispered in his ear, and kissed him? Had that been her reward for the sacrifice she believed he had made for her in the castle chamber? The thought of this woman, whose beauty and love breathed the sweet purity of a flower and whose faith to her king and master was still unbroken even in her hour of repudiation fell upon him heavily. For there was no choice, no shadow of alternative. There was but one way for him to break the bondage of the girl he loved.