It was more than Judith could bear. She lifted her swimming eyes to him in the dusk; he was recovering self command and strength, but he was still white, shaken, the bandaged head and shoulder showing how close he had been to death. Her love overbore virgin timidity and tradition. "Don't send me away then," she said in the deepest tones of that rich, passionate voice of hers. "Ef hit's me you're namin' when you speak of having but one friend--don't send me away, Creed." He came close and caught her hand, looking into her face with wondering half comprehension of her words. That face was dyed with sudden, burning red. She hoped and expected that he would make the proffer which must come from him. When he did not, she burst out in a vehement, tense whisper, "If--if you love me like you said you did----" Creed hesitated, bewildered. He was too ill to judge matters aright, but he knew one thing. "I do love you," he said with mounting firmness. "I may be a mighty poor sort of a fellow--I've begun to think so of late--but I love you." Judith put out both hands blindly toward him whispering, "And I love you. I don't want nothin' but to be with you an' help you, an' take keer of you. I'll never leave you." For a moment the young fellow felt only the dizzy rapture of her frank confession. In that instant he saw himself accepting her sacrifice, taking her in his arms; in anticipation he tasted the sweetness of her lips. Then pure reason, that shrew who had always ruled his days, spoke loud, as the bitterness of his situation rolled back upon him. "No--no!" he cried. "Judith--honey--I can't do that. Why, I'd be robbing you of everything in the world. Your kin would turn against you. Your farm would be lost to you, I reckon--I don't know when I'll be able to go back and claim mine." In the moment of strained silence that followed this speech, with a sense of violent painful revulsion the girl pushed him back when he would timidly have clung to her. What woman ever appreciated prudence in a lover? It is not a lover's virtue. Her farm--her farm! He could listen to her confession of love for him, and speculate upon the chances of her losing her farm by it! She had one shamed, desperate instant when she would have been glad to deny the words she had spoken. Then Creed, reading her anger and despair by the light of his own sorrows, said brokenly: "You feel--you're offended at me now--but Judith, you wouldn't love me if I had taken you at your word, and ruined all your chances in life. I--Judith--dear--I'll make this thing right yet. I'll come back--and you'll forgive me then." With a sudden flaring up of strength he took quiet mastery of the situation. He kissed her tenderly, but sadly, not such a kiss as either could ever have imagined their first would be.