Then suddenly her mystification was complete. Their eyes met, not as before, but very near, so close had he come to her, still smiling. And instantly, instinctively, she lowered hers; for she felt as if she had been caught peering through a window at something she had no right to see. Yet the next instant she was looking again, half-guiltily, but irresistibly drawn. The eyes were of a curious color,--smoky black, or dark gray-blue, or somber purple,--liquid and deep like a woman's, but with a steady, dull glow in their depths that was unlike anything she had ever seen or imagined. What was it that burned there? Suffering? Hunger? Evil? Sorrow? Shame? It gave her something to think about for many a day and night. Meanwhile-- "I see you have heard of me," he said mockingly. She had no reply. She was realizing slowly that she had trespassed, that she had perhaps seriously compromised her cousin, and, most humiliating of all, that she had assumed quite the wrong attitude toward the man. "You really didn't know you were on my land?" he demanded, with a little less offensiveness in his tone. "No," she answered weakly. "And Huntington didn't send you here?" "No." "I believe you, of course. But it's rather queer. How did you happen--if you don't mind--" She did not mind in the least--was eager, indeed, to explain her presence there. "I'm just learning to ride," she began impulsively. "This was my first venture off the valley road, and I--" "And you came straight to me!" he exclaimed, chuckling. At that a strange thing happened. He had meant only that she, the guest and cousin of Seth Huntington, his bitter foe, had blundered straight into the camp of the enemy; and that was a rare joke on Huntington. But she was a girl; her little adventure was already rosy with romance; and the effect of his careless speech was as if he had looked into her heart, and read aloud for her something she had not known was there. To his surprise and wonder the girl's fair face turned red to the roots of her tawny hair, and a look of helpless confusion came into the clear, blue eyes that until now, for all her embarrassment, had frankly met his own. She looked suddenly away from him. "You make me ashamed," she said at length, stealing a look at him. "If you know anything about my difficulty with Huntington," he began, "you'll understand that--" "I do. I do understand!" she interrupted eagerly. "I don't know much about it--the trouble. They haven't told me. I've only overheard some talk--and I didn't ask. I rode down the valley this morning trying to do it like a cowboy. And there was a branch road--and then the break in the fence--and before I knew it I'd fallen asleep. That's all--except--" She shot a half-mischievous glance at him "--you spoiled a very beautiful dream." But this was all lost upon him. His face was clouding again. "Where is it--the break in the fence?"