Page:Guy Boothby - The Beautiful White Devil.djvu/128

 capturing here and there a beetle, a butterfly, or a bird, as they chanced to fall in my way.

While I walked my brain was busily occupied, but dominating all was the remembrance that Alie—the wonderful, the beautiful, the mysterious Alie—loved me. What cared I for the sort of life she led? What did it matter to me, since I had seen and grasped her real character for myself, what other people might say of her? Had I not observed her courage in moments of extreme peril? had I not witnessed her tenderness by the bedside of dying men and women? had I not noted her devotion to what she considered her duty? Yes, and better than all was the knowledge that she had promised to be my wife if I would wait a year for her. Would I wait? Why, of course I would—ten years, twenty, nay a lifetime, if only I could secure her at the end.

With these thoughts in my mind, I trudged briskly on, keeping both eyes open for any specimens, botanical or otherwise, that might come in my way. Then leaving the little stream, whose course we had followed on the previous day, behind me, I struck out towards the west, and presently forsook the forest, to emerge on to an open plain about a mile long by half that distance wide. To the northward lay a high cane brake, to the south a deep ravine, and on the open between them a large herd of deer was feeding quietly. Remembering that I had been told on the previous day that the cook was short of fresh meat, I resolved to see how many I could bring to book. The only way to stalk them was, of course, to approach them upwind, and in order to do this it was necessary that I should cross a