“What is it?” She turned to her lover.  He held in his hands a long package, enfolded in an otter skin.  “Is it a court summons for Will Banion?  They can’t have you, Will!”

He smiled, her head held between his two hands.

“‘I have a very important document for Colonel William Banion,’ the clerk said to me.  ’It has been for some time in our charge, for delivery to him at once should he come into the Oregon settlements.  It is from His Excellency, the President of the United States.  Such messages do not wait.  Seeing it of such importance, and knowing it to be military, Judge Lane opened it, since we could not trace the addressee.  If you like—­if you are, indeed, Colonel William Banion’—­that was what he said.”

He broke off, choking.

“Ah, Molly, at last and indeed I am again William Banion!”

He took from the otter skin—­which Chardon once had placed over the oilskin used by Carson to protect it—­the long and formal envelope of heavy linen.  His finger pointed—­“On the Service of the United States.”

“Why, Will!”

He caught the envelope swiftly to his lips, holding it there an instant before he could speak.

“My pardon!  From the President!  Not guilty—­oh, not guilty!  And I never was!”

“Oh, Will, Will!  That makes you happy?”

“Doesn’t it you?”

“Why, yes, yes!  But I knew that always!  And I know now that I’d have followed you to the gallows if that had had to be.”

“Though I were a thief?”

“Yes!  But I’d not believe it!  I didn’t!  I never did!  I could not!”

“You’d take my word against all the world—­just my word, if I told you it wasn’t true?  You’d want no proof at all?  Will you always believe in me in that way?  No proof?”

“I want none now.  You do tell me that?  No, no!  I’m afraid you’d give me proofs!  I want none!  I want to love you for what you are, for what we both are, Will!  I’m afraid!”

He put his hands on her shoulders, held her away arms’ length, looked straight into her eyes.

“Dear girl,” said he, “you need never be afraid any more.”

She put her head down contentedly against his shoulder, her face nestling sidewise, her eyes closed, her arms again quite around his neck.

“I don’t care, Will,” said she.  “No, no, don’t talk of things!”

He did not talk.  In the sweetness of the silence he kissed her tenderly again and again.

And now the sun might sink.  The light of the whole world by no means died with it.

THE END