"Can't be done. You see, the dollars ain't yours till you marry. Mebbe they'll never be yours. Mebbe you won't never marry. I guess every female don't allus marry. No, can't be done, I guess." "No--o. I never looked at it like that before. No. The money isn't mine, is it? So, of course, I can't do it. Oh, Seth, I am disappointed!" The girl's face had dropped, and there was something almost tragic in her tone. Seth heard the tone and it smote his heart, and made him long to take her in his arms and comfort her. He hated himself for what he had said. "Why, little Rosie," he said gently, "I was only jest lookin' straight at it. Guess them dollars is yours. It's jest a question o' gettin' married." The girl had turned away again. The sky was fast darkening, and a deep grayness was spreading from the east. And now, without turning, she said quietly-- "Yes, I must get married. But there's no one wants to marry me." Seth drew a deep breath and stirred uneasily. There was another long pause while Rosebud sat silently and unconsciously listening to the thumping of her own heart, and Seth tried hopelessly to relight a pipe in which all the tobacco had burnt out. Suddenly Rosebud faced round. The growing darkness concealed the deep flush which had now taken possession of her cheeks, and spread even to brow and throat. "But I do want that money, Seth," she said in a low tone. "And--and--you said--you promised you would help me." There was a sharp sound of an empty pipe falling to the ground. Two strong rough hands were suddenly thrust out and rested in a steady grasp upon the girl's rounded shoulders. They slid their way upward until her soft cheeks were resting in their palms. Rosebud felt her face lifted until she found herself gazing into the man's dark eyes which, in the darkness, were shining with a great love light. Her lids drooped before such passionate intensity. And her heart thrilled with rapture as she listened to his rough, honest words. "Little Rosie, gal, you don't jest know what you're sayin'. I hadn't meant to, sure, but now I can't jest help it. My wits seem somehow gone, an' I don't guess as you'll ever forgive me. Ther's only one way I ken help you, little gal. 'Tain't right. 'Tain't honest, I know, but I guess I'm weak-kneed 'bout things now. I love you that bad I jest want to marry you. Guess I've loved you right along. I loved you when I picked you up in these arms nigh seven years ago. I loved you when I bandaged up that golden head o' yours. An' I've loved you--ever since. Rosie, gal, I jest don't know what I'm sayin'. How ken I? I'm daft--jest daft wi' love of you. I've tried to be honest by you. I've tried to do my duty by you--but I jest can't no longer, 'cos I love you----" But he abruptly released her, and blindly groped on the ground for his pipe. He had suddenly realized that his actions, his words were past all forgiveness.