And now, as they rode on, interchanging only haphazard remarks, Roland swung himself from his horse, and, plucking a spray of arbutus, handed it to the girl. "Take it," he said; "it is all I have." His horse had wandered on a step and was nibbing at the grass, and, as he stood looking up at her, for the first time it occurred to him that she was fair. However a girl may seem in a ball-room, if she ever looks well she looks best in the saddle; and Justine, in spite of his criticism, did not sit her horse badly. Her gray habit, the high white collar and open vest, brought out the snuff-color of her eyes and hair. Her cheeks, too, this morning must have recovered some of the flush they had lost, or else the sun had been using its palette, for in them was the hue of the flower he had gathered and held. She took it and inserted the stem in the lapel of her coat. "Are you going?" she asked. "What would you think of me if I remained?" "What would I? I would think--" As she hesitated she turned. He could see now it was not the sun alone that had been at work upon her face. "Let _me_ tell. You would think that a man with two arms for sole income has no right to linger in the neighborhood of a girl such as you. That is what you would think, what anyone would think; and while I care little enough about the existence which I lead in the minds of other people, yet I do care for your esteem. If I stay, I lose it. I should lose, too, my own; let me keep them both and go." "I do not yet see why?" "You don't!" The answer was so abrupt in tone that you would have said he was irritated at her remark, judging it unnecessary and ill-timed. "You don't!" he repeated. "Go back a bit, and perhaps you will remember that after I saw you at your house I did not come back again." "I do indeed remember." "The next day I saw you in the Park; I was careful not to return." "But what have I done? You said last night--" "Why do you question? You know it is because I love you." "Then you shall not go." "I must." "You shall _not_, I say." "And I shall take with me the knowledge that the one woman I have loved is the one woman I have been forced to leave." "Roland Mistrial, how can you bear the name you do and yet be so unjust? If you leave me now it is because you care more for yourself than you ever could for me. It is not on my account you go: it is because you fear the world. There were heroes once that faced it." "Yes, and there were Circes then, as now." As he made that trite reply his face relaxed, and into it came an expression of such abandonment that the girl could see the day was won. "Tell me--you will not go?" Roland caught her hand in his, and, drawing back the gauntlet of kid, he kissed her on the wrist. "I will never leave you now," he answered; "Only promise you will not regret."