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Curwood, James Oliver, 1879-1927

"The Alaskan"

He reached out his hand, and freely she gave
him her own. Lips blushing with his kisses trembled in a smile, and she
bowed her head a little, so that he was looking at her smooth hair, soft
and sweet where he had caressed it a few moments before.
"I thank God!" he said.
He did not finish the surge of gratitude that was in his heart. Speech
seemed trivial, even futile. But she understood. He was not thanking
God for that moment, but for a lifetime of something that at last had
come to him. This, it seemed to him, was the end, the end of a world as
he had known it, the beginning of a new. He stepped back, and his hands
trembled. For something to do he set up the overturned table, and Mary
Standish watched him with a quiet, satisfied wonder. She loved him, and
she had come into his arms. She had given him her lips to kiss. And he
laughed softly as he came to her side again, and looked over the tundra
where Rossland had gone.
"How long before you can prepare for the journey?" he asked.
"You mean--"
"That we must start tonight or in the morning. I think we shall go
through the cottonwoods over the old trail to Nome. Unless Rossland
lied, Graham is somewhere out there on the Tanana trail."
Her hand pressed his arm. "We are going--_back?_ Is that it, Alan?"
"Yes, to Seattle.


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