It made Andrew weak to see her so close, and he searched her face with a hungry and jealous fear, lest she should be different from his dream of her. "You are the same," he said with a sigh of relief. "And you are not afraid of me?" "Hush! Hush!" she repeated. "Afraid of you? Don't you see that I'm happy, happy, happy to see you again?" She drew him forward a little, and her hand touched his as she did so. She turned up the lamp, and a flood of strong yellow light went over the room. "But you have changed," said Anne Withero with a little cry. "Oh, you have changed! They've been hounding you--the cowards!" "Does it make no difference to you--that I have killed a man." "Ah, it was that brother to the Dozier man. But I've learned about him. He was a bloodhound like his brother, but treacherous. Besides, it was in fair fight. Fair fight? It was one against six!" "Don't," said Andrew, breathing hard, "don't say that! You make me feel that it's almost right to have done what I've done. But besides him--all the rest--do they make no difference?" "All of what?" "People say things about me. They even print them." He winced as he spoke. But she was fierce again; her passion made her tremble. "When I think of it!" she murmured. "When I think of it, the rotten injustice makes me want to choke 'em all! Why, today I heard--I can't repeat it. It makes me sick--sick! Why, they've hounded you and bullied you until they've made you think you are bad, Andrew. They've even made you a little bit proud of the hard things people say about you. Isn't that true?" Was it any wonder that Andrew could not answer? He felt all at once so supple that he was hot tallow which those small fingers would mold and bend to suit themselves. "Sit down here!" she commanded. Meekly he obeyed. He sat on the edge of his chair, with his hat held with both hands, and his eyes widened as he stared at her--like a person coming out of a great darkness into a great light. And tears came into the eyes of the girl. "You're as thin as a starved--wolf," she said, and closed her eyes and shuddered. "And all the time I've been thinking of you as you were when I saw you here before--the same clear, steady eyes and the same direct smile. But they've made you older--they've burned the boy out of you with pain! And I've been thinking about you just cantering through wild, gay adventures. Are you ill now?" He had leaned back in the chair and gathered his hat close to his breast, crushing it. "I'm not ill," said Andrew. His voice was hoarse and thick. "I'm just listening to you. Go on and talk." "About you?" asked the girl. "I don't hear your words--hardly; I just hear the sound you make." He leaned forward again and cast out his arm so that the palm of his hand was turned up beneath her eyes. She could see the long, lean fingers. It suddenly came home to her that every strong man in the mountain desert was in deadly terror of that hand. Anne Withero was shaken for the first time.