The wish to defend himself with the palliations of last night's desperate fatigue and the chill in his wound was a strong temptation, but he repressed it. Knowledge of his encounter with Ratler Webb would only alarm her and conjure up fears of unforgiving vengeance. "Hit war just a gun thet went off accidental-like," he prevaricated. "I wasn't harmed none, Blossom." Then in a tense voice he continued: "I only aimed ter drink a leetle--not too much--an' then somehow I didn't seem ter hev ther power ter quit." He felt the lameness of that plea and broke off. "I'd been studyin' about what you said on ther ridge," she told him falteringly, and the tremor of her voice electrified him. Again the mountains on their ancient foundations grew unsteady before his eyes. "Does ye mean thet--thet despite last night--ye keers fer me?" He bent forward, lips parted and heart pounding--and her reply was an unsteady whisper. "I hain't plumb dead sartain yit, Turner, but--but this mornin' I couldn't think of nothin' else but you." "Blossom!" exclaimed the boy, his voice ringing with a solemn earnestness. "I don't want thet ye shall hev ter feel shame fer me--but----" Once again the words refused to come. The girl had risen now and stood slender in the silver light, her lashes wet with tears. With that picture in his eyes it became impossible to balance the other problems of his life. So he straightened himself stiffly and turned his gaze away from her. He was seeing instead a picture of the squat shanty where the copper worm was at work in the shadow, and for him it was a picture of bondage. So she waited, feeling some hint of realization for the struggle his eyes mirrored. There would be many other wet nights up there, he reflected as his jaw set itself grimly; many nights of chilled and aching bones with that wild thirst creeping seductively, everpoweringly upon him out of the darkness. There would be the clutch of longing, strangling his heart and gnawing at his stomach. But if he _did_ promise and failed, he could never again recover his self-respect. He would be doomed. With his face still averted, he spoke huskily and laboriously. "I reckon thar hain't no way ter make ye understand, Blossom. I don't drink like some folks, jest ter carouse. I don't oftentimes want ter tech hit, but seems like sometimes I jest _has_ ter hev hit. Hit's most gin'rally when I'm plumb sick of livin' on hyar withouten no chance ter better myself." Even in the moonlight she could see that his face was drawn and pallid. Then abruptly he wheeled: "Ther Stacys always keeps thar bonds. I reckons ye wants me ter give ye my hand thet I won't never tech another drop, Blossom, but I kain't do thet yit--I've got ter fight hit out fust an' be plumb dead sartain thet I could keep my word ef I pledged hit----" Blossom heard her father calling her from the porch and as she seized the boy's arms she found them set as hard as rawhide.