"One of the reasons that has made me love you has been your devotion to your father. Another was your distrust. You never did trust me at first. I felt that you were keeping me off, holding yourself away from me, Bobby. I wanted to tell you all this long ago,"--which was the truth--"but I wanted you to be sure of yourself; I wanted you to recognize love and know that this thing between us is the lasting sort"--which was a lie. "The lasting kind?" she queried. "You love me? For good? Honest?" "Honest!" he promised, taking both her hands. "I love you with all the love a man can give a woman! I love you enough to devote my whole life to making you happy. I have money. We can go where we please, do what we please. You will have friends and respect. You can see cities and the ocean. You can live in grand hotels and eat wonderful food that someone else has cooked; you can hear music and go to theaters; you will have flowers and automobiles; you'll see California and Florida and Europe...." "And because you love?" she demanded as he put his arms about her. "It's because you love me, ain't it? If I thought ... if I thought it was for anything else I'd kill you." Her tone was even enough, her voice the soft, full voice of a woman touched by love, but beneath its velvet was a matter-of-fact certainty that caused the faintest tremor to run through his limbs. They looked into one another's eyes, felt each other's breath upon their cheeks, the one consumed by passion, the other swept upward into a new world, a new, incredible life, as a beautiful hope touched her heart. They did not see their horses standing with intent ears and, as they were up wind they did not hear the slight sounds of another approaching. "Because I love you, Bobby! Will you come?" "And I'll be your wife and you won't be ashamed of me ... ever?" "Never!"--in a tone that was too firm for conviction. "An' Alf'll come to see us whenever he wants to?" "Whenever he wants to. Don't you believe me? Why question?"--hurriedly. "Say you love me, now, today, this hour,"--straining her to him. "Say it to me, Bobby; say that you love me as I love you!" His eyes burned into hers and he closed his lips to press them on hers, to touch the woman of her into being, to accomplish the end he sought. "Oh, Mister Hilton, I--" Her voice had the quality of a sob and he waited for her to go on before he sealed his tricky pact with a kiss, but as she choked a crashing of the brush shocked him into a realization of the outside world and a resounding voice cried: "One moment! Just one moment!" The Reverend Azariah Beal advanced toward them through the willows. Bobby whirled to face him and Hilton, with an oath, released her. For a moment, portentous silence. The Reverend halted, plainly confused. Before Hilton's glare and the girl's breathless fury his eyes wavered. He opened his lips to speak and closed them helplessly. Then a queer glimmer crossed his face, half hope, half smile.