"Agreed!" she laughed. "Wouldn't it be jolly to go at a gallop all the way down the canyon, from the mountains to Golden? But the poor horses!" "I think we'd better turn back, Miss Bancroft. I don't like the look of those clouds. It's going to be a regular deluge, I'm afraid. But first, I want to tell you--" "Oh, my hat! I've dropped it!" she exclaimed. Curtis leaned over easily, picked it up, and hung it on his own pommel. Her eyes were twinkling and the dimples were playing hide-and-seek with a wilful little smile that hovered around her mouth. "So awkward of me," she said apologetically, "and how readily you picked it up! I wish I could do that! Do you know, Mr. Conrad, you've never given me those lessons in the cowboy's art, roping and riding and all that, you promised ever so long ago." "We'll begin them whenever you say the word. After I tell you--" "About that beautiful place? Oh, yes! Can't we go that far? I'd love to see it!" She was bounding ahead again, but he was quickly beside her. A quizzical look was on his face and a touch of mastery in his manner as he leaned toward her and rested his hand upon her horse's neck. "Now, if you try to run away again," he said banteringly, "it's you who will have the handicap!" She gathered up her bridle and with a touch of her quirt wheeled her horse half way around and away from his detaining hand. The whim had seized her to start flying back down the road, "just a little way," she thought, "just to tease him." But as she turned she met a glowing look that checked her impulse. "Lucy!" he was saying, and his voice lingered over her name like a soft and warm caress, "Lucy! I love you. Will you be my wife?" It had come, the question she had meant not to let him ask, and at once it sobered her spirits and brought back the remembrance of what she must tell him. Her head drooped until her brown curls half hid her crimsoning face, and her voice was low and troubled. "Indeed, Mr. Conrad, I can never be any man's wife. My father needs me. I shall never marry, and I shall stay with him as long as he lives." "I know how devoted you are to your father, Lucy--" he stopped, and repeated her name as if he loved the sound of it it--"Lucy, and it is so sweet and beautiful that it makes me love you even more. Tell me, Lucy, do you love me?" The question took her unawares, and he saw her hand tremble. She hesitated for a moment before replying, with dignity: "I have told you I could not marry you. Isn't that enough?" Unconsciously they had again headed their horses toward the mountains and were walking slowly up the canyon. "No, Lucy; it isn't enough!" he exclaimed eagerly. "Something tells me that perhaps you do care a little for me, and if you do I want to know it--I must know it!" "I shall never see you again after to-day. You must be satisfied with that," she replied, tossing her head and turning her face away from his shining and pleading eyes.