Douglas listened with the whole of his mind. Judith's sobs had ceased now, and she went on, slowly. "It's not that I'm against children. I'd love to have a half a dozen babies. But what I am against is giving all that is in me--the brain side of me, to something that demands only a small part of my brain. I want a life like a man's and a woman's too, that makes me give all, all. Surely I can find a place somewhere where I can give that." Douglas drew an uncertain breath. The Mormon woman had known. A sense of his own inadequacy settled on him like a cloud. "I know you think I'm a fool. Yet you have big dreams for yourself or you wouldn't have felt as you have about the preacher. One has to have an ideal to live by. I thought Inez had given me one and--" with a sob that shook her whole fine body--"I don't see how it can work out!" "I suppose," said Douglas, in his gentle voice, "that folks have been trying out Inez' idea ever since love began, and the homely, every-day details of living make it impossible." Judith drew a long breath and was silent. "And so," said Douglas, "you are through with love and marriage. Yet no human being can be happy without both. Life is like that." Judith sprang to her feet and Douglas rose with her. She began to walk rapidly up and down before the fire. It was so evident that a tempest was raging within her that Douglas watched her with astonishment and dismay. The sunshine flickered gloriously through the cedar branches. Wolf Cub gave cry after a coyote. It might have been a moment or a lifetime to the young rider before Judith halted in front of him. Her tear-stained face was tense. Her wide eyes burned with a light he never before had seen in them. "And if," she exclaimed, "I told you that I loved you; that for years I had fought off a love for you that was like a burning flame in my heart; if I told you that to me you are as beautiful as all the lovers in the world; but that I never, never would give myself to you in marriage, what would you say?" Douglas' gloved hands clenched and unclenched, as he fought for self control. After a moment he managed to return, steadily, "I'd ask you why?" The tensity of Judith's expression did not relax. "I've told you why. I cannot bear to think of killing love by marriage. And it always works so. Always. And yet, O Douglas, I love you, love you!" Douglas threw back his head with a sudden breath, swept Judith into his arms and kissed her, kissed her with all the ardor of years of repression. Judith clung to him as if she could not let him go. And yet, when he lifted his face from hers, she said, none the less firmly because her voice was husky: "But, Douglas, I won't marry you!" Douglas lifted his chin. "Perhaps you won't, my dearest! I'm not going to let that thought spoil the big moment of my life."