"Tell me the truth. Hasn't it been worth while? Even if we lose and die
before this night is done, hasn't it all been worth while? Are you sorry
you have seen me change? Isn't the change for the better--a man grown
instead of a boy? One who looks straight and sees clear?"
He studied her face; and after a while he found his answer. It was not
in the form of words at first. As a man might watch a miracle he watched
a new light come into her dark eyes. All the gloom and sorrow of the
wilderness without could not affect its quality. It was a light of joy,
of exultation, of new-found strength.
"You hadn't ought to ask me that, Bruce," she said with a rather
strained distinctness. "It has been like being born again. There aren't
any words to tell you what it has meant to me. And don't think I haven't
seen the change in you, too--the birth of a new strength that every day
is greater, higher--until it is--almost more than I can understand. The
old smiles are gone, but something else has taken their place--something
much more dear to me--but what it is I can hardly tell you. Maybe it's
something that the pines have."
But he hadn't wholly forgotten how to smile. His face lighted as
remembrance came to him. "They are a different kind of smiles--that's
all," he explained. "Perhaps there will be many of them in the days to
come. Linda, I have no regrets. I've played the game. Whether it was
Destiny that brought me here, or only chance, or perhaps--if we take
just life and death into consideration--just misfortune, whatever it is
I feel no resentment toward it. It has been the worthwhile adventure. In
the first place, I love the woods. There's something else in them
besides death and hatred and unhappiness. Besides, it seems to me that I
can understand the whole world better than I used to. Maybe I can begin
to see a big purpose and theme running through it all--but it's not yet
clear enough to put into words. Certain things in this world are
essentials, certain other ones are froth. And I see which things belong
to one class and which to another so much more clearly than I did
before. One of the things that matters is throwing one's whole life into
whatever task he has set out to do--whether he fails or succeeds doesn't
seem greatly to matter. The main thing, it appears to me, is that he has
tried. To stand strong and kind of calm, and not be afraid--if I can
always do it, Linda, it is all I ask for myself. Not to flinch now. Not
to give up as long as I have the strength for another step. And to have
you with me--all the way."
"Then you and I--take fresh heart?"
"We've never lost heart, Linda."
"Not to give up, but only be glad we've tried?"
"Yes. And keep on trying."
"With no regrets?"
"None--and maybe to borrow a little strength from the pines!"
This was their new pact. To stand firm and strong and unflinching, and
never to yield as long as an ounce of strength remained. As if to seal
it, her arms crept about his neck and her soft lips pressed his.