Like animated photography, all this dashed through the girl's mind in a trice when Lem expressed a wish that she would promise him something. And with it her cryptic avowal centralized and surged up strong within her. Taking a firm hold on her will, she raised her eyes full upon his supplicant figure suing before her. Lem looked, and acted like a man who had been stunned by a blow. He was confronted with a new and unexpected phase of her nature. As his own gaze met her eyes, he discerned the indelible lettering of some palpable, deep purpose. What strange alien agency had laid hold of her? Was this the call of her blue-grass blood asserting itself in this, the hour of parting? The celerity of the transition, from his romping, hilarious play-fellow, to this serious, solemn, sudden incarnation, who denied him so unexpectedly, the pledge upon which he had staked his future, was a cyclonic blow that left his faculties bereft and numbed. Belle-Ann was looking fixedly at him. His lips were palsied. His mouth moved mutely to form words. Suddenly he found his voice and launched forth out of a daze. "Why, Belle-Ann, yo' kin sho' promise me thes, cyan't yo' now?" "Yo' hain't tol' me whut hit air yet, Lem," she protested faintly. "Belle-Ann," he blurted out huskily, "I air pizen sho' yo'-all knows whut I air a firin' at." She shook the silken mass of black curls that would insist in tumbling down on her small face, and elevated her pretty brows negatively. But beneath her drooping lids a flicker of tell-tale light was playing. "Looky heah, Belle-Ann,"--his voice dropped to pleading tones--"Lem wants thet yo' should promise em sompin' 'fore yo'-all goes away. I want yo' t' promise, Belle-Ann," he went on earnestly, recovering the hand he had dropped in his amazement. "I want yo' t' promise thet when yo'-all cums back t' home thet yo'll marry me--eh?" Not rudely, but reverently and slowly she drew her hand away from him. With eyes averted, her bosom stirred and she struggled with the choking in her throat. She removed her sun-hat, and stood swinging it in her perturbation. With a great will she steadied her voice. "I cyan't promise thet, Lem--leastways not now," she answered slowly, without looking at him. He fell back, crestfallen and hurt. For a minute silence stood between them. Never before had he seen her so bewitching. Then she turned her matchless violet eyes upon him. "I hain't a spitin' yo', Lem," she explained hurriedly. "I hain't a spitin' you, cose yo' air a good boy an'--an' I like yo', Lem. But I jest cyant promise whut yo' want me t' now." Astounded, he stood fumbling for words. Then he suddenly tossed his long hair back with a jerk of his head--a gesture that had characterized his father.