"How can I be satisfied--" he began, and the wind blew her hair as she turned her head away and showed one little pink-tinted ear nestling among the curls. His gaze devoured it. "How can I," he went on, "when you--when you have such a beautiful ear!" "What difference does it make when we can never see each other again?" Her manner was evasive and her speech hesitating, for she was trying hard to bring herself to the point of telling him the fateful secret. "All the difference in the world! Lucy, sweetheart! Tell me if you care!" He leaned toward her and took her wrist in his hand. [Illustration: "IT HAD COME, THIS QUESTION SHE HAD NOT MEANT TO LET HIM ASK"] "You've no right to ask that question again! I shall say no more than I have said already." She made an effort to release her arm, but he would not relax his firm, though gentle and caressing, grasp. "Lucy, I would never beg for a woman's love, nor ask her to try to care for me, if she didn't love me, of herself. But when the woman I love with all my heart won't deny that she loves me, then I must hear her say in her own sweet voice that she does. Lucy, darling, tell me that you love me!" She was trembling from head to foot, but she drew herself together with fresh determination and held her head up proudly as she answered, looking straight ahead: "I have told you that I shall never marry, and that after to-day I shall never see you again. That must be enough, for I shall say no more." He let go her wrist, and she tapped her horse to a faster pace. She was thinking intently, trying to frame in her mind the best words in which to make her confession. Suddenly, over the top of a steep incline, they came upon a wide and splendid view. The sides of the canyon seemed to melt and flow back, giving far-ranging sight of the sombre purple mountains towering toward heaven and of the hills dwindling down into the plain. "Lucy," he exclaimed, "here is the beautiful place of which I told you. I wanted to bring you here to tell you of my love, because this is the most beautiful spot I know. Lucy, darling, I love you with all my heart, and if you cannot deny that you love me, then it is my right, the right of my love, to hear you say that you do. Never mind about not leaving your father and meaning never to marry. We'll talk about that afterward. Won't you tell me now that you do love me?" Her eyes dropped from the high and wide horizon to her horse's mane. She tried to say, "I do not love you," but her heart rose in rebellion and forbade the untruth. She opened her lips, but no sound came from them. Curtis bent toward her, trying to take her hand, but she drew it away. With all her strength she was contending for her determination against both him and the traitor within her own heart. He leaned nearer, pleading in tones that were half loving command and half loving entreaty, "Lucy! Lucy, love! Look up! Let me see your eyes, your dear, beautiful eyes!"