Martin's breast heaved, and he breathed heavily. "I have no doubt you are right," he said--"of course you are. But I can tell you this: if I see that fellow troubling you again I'll kill him, or--" "Martin! Martin!" exclaimed Margery. "What do you mean? What makes you talk in this way?" "What makes me?" he exclaimed, as if it were impossible to restrain his words. "My heart makes me, my soul makes me. I--" "Your heart? Your soul?" interrupted Margery. "I don't understand." For a moment he looked at the astonished girl in silence, and then he said: "Miss Dearborn, it's of no use for me to try to hide what I feel. If I hadn't got so angry I might have been able to keep quiet, but I can't do it now. If that man thinks he loves you, his love is like a grain of sand compared to mine." "Yours?" cried Margery. "Yes," said Martin, his face pallid and his eyes sparkling, "mine. You may think it is an insult for me to talk this way, but love is love, and it will spring up where it pleases; and besides, I am not the common sort of a fellow you may think I am. After saying what I have said, I am bound to say more. I belong to a good family, and am college bred. I am poor, and I love nature. I am working to make money to travel and become a naturalist. I prefer this sort of work because it takes me into the heart of nature. I am not ashamed of what I am, I am not ashamed of my work, and my object in life is a nobler one, I think, than the practice of the law, or a great many other things like it." Margery stood and looked at him with wide-open eyes. "Do you mean to say," she said, "that you want to marry me? It would take years and years for you to become naturalist enough to support a wife." "I have made no plans," he said, quickly, "I have no purpose. I did not intend to tell you now that I love you, but since I have said that, I will say also that with you to fight for there could be no doubt about my success. I should be bound to succeed. It would be impossible for me to fail. As for the years, I would wait, no matter how many they should be." He spoke with such hot earnestness that Margery involuntarily drew herself a little away from him. At this the flush went out of his face. "Oh, Miss Dearborn," he exclaimed, "don't think that I am like that man out there! Don't think that I will persecute you if you don't wish to hear me; that I will follow you about and make your life miserable. If you say to me that you do not wish to see me again, you will never see me again. Say what you please, and you will find that I am a gentleman." She could see that now. She felt sure that if she told him she did not wish ever to see him again he would never appear before her. But what would he do? She was not in the least afraid of him, but his fierce earnestness frightened her, not for herself, but for him. Suddenly a thought struck her.