It was as if to-night he had discovered the missing key to a
puzzle or the missing element in some chemical combination. Like
most big men, his mind was essentially a protective mind; weakness
drew out the best that was in him. And it was only to-night that
Elizabeth had given any sign of having any weakness in her
composition. That clear vision which had come to him on his long
walk came again now, that vivid conviction that she was the only
girl in the world for him.
He was debating within himself the advisability of trying to find
words to express this sentiment, when Mr Pickering, the modern
Chingachgook, trod on another twig in the background and Elizabeth
stopped abruptly with a little cry.
'What was that?' she demanded.
Bill had heard a noise too. It was impossible to be within a dozen
yards of Mr Pickering, when on the trail, and not hear a noise.
The suspicion that someone was following them did not come to him,
for he was a man rather of common sense than of imagination, and
common sense was asking him bluntly why the deuce anybody should
want to tramp after them through a wood at that time of night. He
caught the note of panic in Elizabeth's voice, and was soothing
her.
'It was just a branch breaking. You hear all sorts of rum noises
in a wood.
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