She drew a long breath. “Yes, everybody’s safe and you are back home. Why didn’t you come after your cousin was killed?” “I had to finish my work.” “And _did_ you finish it?” “I think we did. There will be no more Shoshone gang. It’s members have scatted in all directions.” “I’m glad you stayed, then. We can live at peace now.” And presently she added: “I knew you would not come back until you had done what you set out to do. You’re very obstinate, sir. Do you know that?” “Perseverance, I call it,” he smiled, glad to see that she was recovering her lightness of tone. “You don’t always insist on putting your actions in the most favorable light. Do you remember the first day I ever saw you?” “Am I likely ever to forget it?” he smiled fondly. “I didn’t mean _that_. What I was getting at was that you let me go away from you thinking you were ‘the king.’ I haven’t forgiven you entirely for that.” “I expect y’u’ll always have to be forgiving me things.” “If you valued my good opinion I don’t see how you could let me go without telling me. Was it fair or kind?” “If y’u come to that, was it so fair and kind to convict me so promptly on suspicion?” he retaliated with a smile. “No, it wasn’t. But—” She flushed with a divine shyness. “But I loved you all the time, even when they said you were a villain.” “Even while y’u believed me one?” “I didn’t. I never would believe you one—not deep in my heart. I wouldn’t let myself. I made excuses for you—explained everything to myself.” “Yet your reason told y’u I was guilty.” “Yes, I think my mind hated you and my heart loved you.” He adored her for the frank simplicity of her confession, that out of the greatness of her love she dared to make no secret of it to him. Direct as a boy, she was yet as wholly sweet as the most retiring girl could be. “Y’u always swamp my vocabulary, sweetheart. I can’t ever tell y’u—life wouldn’t be long enough—how much I care for you.” “I’m glad,” she said simply. They stood looking at each other, palms pressed to palms in meeting hands, supremely happy in this miracle of love that had befallen them. They were alone—for Nora and Jim had gone into temporary eclipse behind a hill and seemed in no hurry to emerge—alone in the sunshine with this wonder that flowed from one to another by shining eyes, by finger touch, and then by meeting lips. He held her close, knew the sweet delight of contact with the supple, surrendered figure, then released her as she drew away in maidenly reserve. “When shall we be married, Helen? Is the early part of next week too late?” he asked. Still blushing, she straightened her hat. “That’s ridiculous, sir. I haven’t got used to the thought of you yet.” “Plenty of time for that afterward. Then we’ll say next week if that suits y’u.” “But it doesn’t. Don’t you know that it is the lady’s privilege to name the day? Besides, I want time to change my mind if I should decide to.”