"How do you know?" His gaze wavered for an instant, and she turned away quickly. "Because he has told me so." Brockway rose rather unsteadily and went to the rivulet to get a drink. The sweetly maddening truth was beginning to beat its way into his brain, and he stood dazed for a moment before he remembered that he had brought no drinking-cup. Then he knelt by the stream, and, turning his silk travelling-cap inside out, filled it to the brim with the clear, cold water. His hands trembled a little, but he made shift to carry it to her without spilling much. "It is a type of all that I have to offer you, besides myself--not even so much as a cup to drink out of," he said, and his voice was steadier than his hands. "Will you let me be your cup-bearer--always?" She was moved to smile at the touch of old-world chivalry, but she fell in with his mood and put his hands away gently. "No--after you; it is I who should serve." And when he had touched his lips to the water, she drank deeply and thanked him. Brockway thrust the dripping cap absently into his pocket, and stood looking down on her like a man in a maze; stood so long that she glanced up with a quizzical little smile and said, "Are you sorry?" He came to himself with a start and sat down on the tree-trunk beside her. "Sorry? You know better than that. But I do believe I'm a bit idiotic with happiness. Are you quite sure you know what you have done?" "Quite. I think I made up my mind last night to do it--if you should ask me. It was after our ride on the engine; after my father had let me see what was in his mind." "Ah, yes--your father. He will be very angry, won't he?" "Yes"--reluctantly. "But you will not let him make you recant?" She laughed joyously. "You think you are in love with me, and yet that shows how little you really know of me, or of the family characteristics. We have plenty of unlovelinesses, but fickleness isn't one of them." "Forgive me," he said, humbly; "but it seems to me there is so little to hold you, and so much to turn you aside. I----" A series of shrill shrieks from the locomotive in the valley below interrupted him, and he rose reluctantly. "They're calling us in; we'll have to go." She took his arm and they ran down the steep declivity, across the small plateau, and so on to the bottom of the railway cutting. Just before they reached the train, Brockway asked if he should tell the Burtons. "As you please," she replied. "I shall tell my father and Cousin Jeannette as soon as we get back." They found the passengers all aboard and the train waiting for them, and Mrs. Burton scolded them roundly for their misdeeds. "We had a mind to go off and leave you," she said; "it would have served you right for running away. Where ever have you been?"