"Well, I can guarantee that you're happy," said Hope, "and that is a positive demonstration of the truth of William's observation. But now we must go," she said, rising abruptly and picking up her hat from the corner of the tent. "You haven't been here a half hour yet, Hopie, but I suppose I must be thankful for small favors," deplored Carter. "I've had my supper,--a nice one, too,--and that's what I came for, Syd, dear," said the girl. "And if I may, I will come again, until you and dear old Jim both get tired of me." "_Get tired_--fiddlesticks!" exclaimed McCullen, while Sydney laughed a little, and left the tent to saddle her horse. The breed boy followed him; then Livingston, too, was about to leave when McCullen stopped him. "Just stay in here by the fire and talk to Hopie till we get your horses," he said, abruptly leaving them together. The girl drew nearer the stove. "It's quite chilly out this evening," she remarked. "That is the beauty of the nights in this northern country," he replied, coming near to her. "Why, we're alone," she observed. "I wonder where William went!" "I didn't notice his disappearance," he replied. "But we are alone--together. Are you not frightened?" "Frightened? No!" she said softly. "Why?" "A senseless remark. Do not notice it--or anything, I beg of you. I am quite too happy to weigh my words." "Then you have proved the cook's theory correct; providing you have eaten--sufficiently," she replied. They both smiled, and darts of light from the stove played about their faces. "Will you allow me--this night--to ride home with you?" he asked, watching the fantastic shadows upon her face and catching gleams of her deep eyes as they occasionally sought his own. She hesitated a moment before replying. "You think me a strange girl," she said. "I wonder what you will think of me now if I refuse this." "I think nothing except that you are the sweetest girl I have ever known--and the _noblest_. I thank my Maker for having met you, and spoken with you, and sat here in the firelight beside you! Your ways are your own. I shall not--cannot question you, or impose myself upon you. Our lives, it seems, lie far apart. But I cannot help it--the words burn themselves out--I love you, _Hope_--I love you! Forgive me!" He raised her hand to his lips and left her standing alone in the firelight. "He loves me," she thought, far into the quiet hours of the night. "He loves me, and yet he ran away from me!" CHAPTER XIV Late one afternoon during the following week Livingston drove up to Harris' ranch and helped from his buggy a small, fair-haired girl who looked with wonderment at the squalid log buildings, the squealing, scurrying pigs and children, and the usual group of roughly dressed men waiting for their supper. The pain in her eyes deepened, and she clasped Livingston's arm like a frightened child. "_O_, _mein Freund_, I fear!" she cried, drawing back.