Lee, full of an unhappy restlessness which he could not control, presently got up and moved away to the stables. He was blaming himself bitterly for the events of the past few days. It was perhaps half an hour later that Melissy looked up to see the sturdy figure of Morse in the doorway. During the past year he had filled out, grown stronger and more rugged. His deep tan and heavy stride pronounced him an outdoor man no less surely than the corduroy suit and the high laced miners' boots. He came forward to the postoffice window without any sign of recognition. "Is Mr. Flatray still here?" "No!" Without further explanation Melissy took from the box the two letters addressed to Morse and handed them to him. The girl observed the puzzled look that stole over his face at sight of the silver in one envelope. A glance at the business address printed on the upper left hand corner enlightened him. He laid the money down in the stamp window. "This isn't mine." "You heard what my father said?" "That applies to next time, not to this." "I think it does apply to this time." "I can't see how you're going to make me take it back. I'm an obstinate man." "Just as you like." A sudden flush of anger swept her. She caught up the silver and flung it through the open window into the dusty road. His dark eyes met hers steadily and a dull color burned in his tanned cheeks. Without a word he turned away, and instantly she regretted what she had done. She had insulted him deliberately and put herself in the wrong. At bottom she was a tender-hearted child, even though her father and his friends had always spoiled her, and she could not but reproach herself for the hurt look she had brought into his strong, sad face. He was their enemy, of course, but even enemies have rights. Morse walked out of the office looking straight before him, his strong back teeth gripped so that the muscles stood out on his salient jaw. Impulsively the girl ran around the counter after him. He looked up from untying his horse to see her straight and supple figure running toward him. Her eager face was full of contrition and the color of pink rose petals came and went in it. "I'm sorry, Mr. Morse. I oughtn't to have done that. I hurt your feelings," she cried. At best he was never a handsome man, but now his deep, dark eyes lit with a glow that surprised her. "Thank you. Thank you very much," he said in a low voice. "I'm so tempery," she explained in apology, and added: "I suppose a nice girl wouldn't have done it." "A nice girl did do it," was all he could think to say. "You needn't take the trouble to say that. I know I've just scrambled up and am not ladylike and proper. Sometimes I don't care. I like to be able to do things like boys. But I suppose it's dreadful." "I don't think it is at all. None of your friends could think so. Not that I include myself among them," he hastened to disclaim. "I can't be both your friend and your enemy, can I?"