Her loss of mother and friends, her wandering from one wild place to another, her lonely life among bold and rough men, had developed her for violent love.

It overthrew all pride, it engendered humility, it killed hate.
Ellen wiped the tears from her eyes, and as she knelt there she swept to her breast a fragrant spreading bough of pine needles.

"I'll go to him," she whispered.

"I'll tell him of--of my--my love.

I'll tell him to take me away--away to the end of the world--away from heah--before it's too late!" It was a solemn, beautiful moment.