Prom a window, Val watched him with cold terror. Would he suspect? Or was there anything to suspect? “It's silly--it's perfectly idiotic,” she told herself impatiently; “but if he hangs around that corral another minute, I shall scream!” She watched until she saw him mount his horse and ride off toward the upper pasture. Then she went out and began apathetically picking seed pods off her sweet-peas, which the early frosts had spared. “Head better?” called Polycarp, half an hour later, when he went rattling past the house with the wagon, bound for the river bottom where they got their supply of wood. “A little,” Val answered inattentively, without looking at him. It was while Polycarp was after the wood, and while she was sitting upon the edge of the porch, listlessly arranging and rearranging a handful of long-stemmed blossoms, that Kent galloped down the hill and up to the gate. She saw him coming and set her teeth hard together. She did not want to see Kent just then; she did not want to see anybody. Kent, however, wanted to see her. It seemed to him at least a month since he had had a glimpse of her, though it was no more than half that time. He watched her covertly while he came up the path. His mind, all the way over from the Wishbone, had been very clear and very decided. He had a certain thing to tell her, and a certain thing to do; he had thought it all out during the nights when he could not sleep and the days when men called him surly, and there was no going back, no reconsideration of the matter. He had been telling himself that, over and over, ever since the house came into view and he saw her sitting there on the porch. She would probably want to argue, and perhaps she would try to persuade him, but it would be absolutely useless; absolutely. “Well, hello!” he cried, with more than his usual buoyancy of manner--because he knew he must hurt her later on. “Hello, Madam Authoress. Why this haughty air? This stuckupiness? Shall I get a ladder and climb up where you can hear me say howdy?” He took off his hat and slapped her gently upon the top of her head with it. “Come out of the fog!” “Oh--I wish you wouldn't!” She glanced up at him so briefly that he caught only a flicker of her yellow-brown eyes, and went on fumbling her flowers. Kent stood and looked down at her for a moment. “Mad?” he inquired cheerfully. “Say, you look awfully savage. On the dead, you do. What do _you_ care if they sent it back? You had all the fun of writing it--and you know it's a dandy. Please smile. _Pretty_ please!” he wheedled. It was not the first time he had discovered her in a despondent mood, nor the first time he had bantered and badgered her out of her gloom. Presently it dawned upon him that this was more serious; he had never seen her quite so colorless or so completely without spirit. “Sick, pal?” he asked gently, sitting down beside her. “No-o--I suppose not.” Val bit her lips, as soon as she had spoken, to check their quivering.