"'Gene, I am going away," she said, extending her hand as he came up. "Going away?" he repeated, blankly. "Yes. Miss Wood has asked me to accompany her to Europe and--and I am going." He was silent for a long time, his dazed eyes looking past her as if sightless. "That's--that's a long ways to go, Justine," he said at last, and his voice was husky. The broad hand which had held hers for an instant, shook as he laid it on the gate post. "It is very good of her, 'Gene, and I love her so much," she said. She saw again that love was not dead in his heart and the revelation frightened her. "You have been so good to me, 'Gene, and I don't know how I am ever to repay you," she hurried on, eager to pass the crisis. "You--you c'n pay me in your own way an' in your own time," he said, looking intently at the ground, uncertain of his own meaning. "We leave to-night," she said, "and I must not go away without--without settling with you." "Settlin' with me," he echoed. There was no passing over the bitterness in his voice. "You are goin' to-night. Good God!----" he burst out, but the new habit of self-repression was strong. "I beg your pardon, Justine," he went on a moment later. "To-night?" "Mr. Strong will take us to the train at six o'clock," she said. She had not looked for so much emotion. "'Gene, I owe you so much that I don't see how I am ever to pay you. Not only is it money that I owe, but gratitude. I have thought it all out, 'Gene, and there is only one way in which I can pay the smallest part of my debt, for the debt of gratitude can never be paid. I have sent for 'Squire Rawlings and--and, 'Gene, I know you won't misunderstand me--I am going to ask you to accept this farm from me, to be yours and yours only. The 'Squire will bring the deed, and----" "Justine!" he exclaimed, looking her full in the eyes. "You wouldn't do that--you don't mean that!" The darkest pain she had ever seen was in his eyes. "You deserve it and more----" she began, shrinking before his gaze. He held up his hand piteously and turned his face away, and she could see his struggle for control. At last he turned to her, his face white and drawn, his eyes steady, his voice less husky than before. "You must never say such a thing to me ag'in, Justine. I know you meant all right an' you thought I'd be satisfied with the bargain, but you--you mustn't offer to pay me ag'in. You've paid me all that's comin' to me, you've paid me by makin' a good man of me, that's what you've done. I'd die before I'd take this--this land o' your'n an' that little boy's. You're mighty good an'--an'---- Oh, cain't you see it's no use in me tryin' to talk about it? Wait! You was about to begin beggin' me to take it. I want to ast you as the greatest favor you ever done for me, don't say it. Don't say it. I cain't stand it, Justine!"