Part 20 (2/2)

She merely stood looking up at him; understanding only that he was moved by a tremendous force, and that somehow she--as he had just said--was drawn into it.

”A week ago tonight,” he began, but she gave a quick, inarticulate cry.

”Please don't say anything about that night,” her voice was trembling.

”It burns my soul!”

”Yes, I will. We'll look at it squarely for this once, and your soul will treat it calmly. Why not? Wasn't it your victory? Forget you're a girl, and I a man, and for a minute let's have honest outspoken words which might come from two people who've been through an hour neither one of them will ever forget!”

”No, I won't ever forget,” she murmured.

”Nor I. Did you know I was a sneak in pretending to love you then? Did you know it was a lie?”

She could never have realized what it cost him to blurt out these words.

”I knew it when--I had a chance to think,” she faltered, not feeling that outspoken thoughts were as simple as he seemed to find them, ”When I saw it wasn't you that I loved, but just the things you said, I knew I couldn't love you either. That's made it seem easier, Brent.”

”And still you came to Arden to help me?” he looked curiously down at her.

”But I'd forgiven you, an'--an' it wasn't all yoh fault!” Then, looking up at him with hardly a trace of embarra.s.sment, she added: ”The blind girl showed me! You'd ought to know her, Brent!”

”Who is that blind girl?”

”Who? Oh, Brent, don't you know a-tall? Listen!”

She turned him about and pointed to the horizon beyond Snarly k.n.o.b.

There was a subcurrent of excitement in her voice, and the night seemed to grow more still as she went on speaking. The story was dramatic and moving, and frequently her eyes would strain toward the distant sky-line as though the face of some strong presence were gazing out with inscrutable calmness. It was some time again before either of them spoke, and, when he did, she was watching him with a new softness.

”Who'd ever suppose,” he murmured, gazing into the blue-black east which drew him with something more than a curious interest, ”there was anything like that up in those G.o.d-forsaken mountains!”

”Miss Jane says there are things like that everywhere, Brent.”

”Maybe there are,” he took a deep breath. ”I've just happened to miss 'em. I wish I hadn't.”

She could not help laughing just a little at his doleful expression--and, moreover, she was happy, just a little, too.

”You seem to have repentance pasted all over you, Brent! Pappy gets that way when his whiskey runs out. But it's moh becomin' to you! I wish Miss Jane could see it!”

He flushed, and she laughed again.

”Miss Jane has already seen us tonight,” he said in a low voice. ”I don't know about her, or Dale, but there are others who'll put an entirely false construction on our being together. You know that. Tell me something: would you be willing to marry me and go away tomorrow?”

Just how far Nancy's vision penetrated this speech, perhaps she did not know; but she stood very still, scarcely breathing and holding her hands in a vice-like grip. She tried to make another pretense of laughing, but it failed; and her voice was sad when she turned to him.

”I don't reckon I'm the kind that'll be hurt much by what people say.”

Coming nearer, her eyes searched his face which was still turned to the ground, and she whispered: ”Which'd be worse, Brent: goin' away married an' without love, or unmarried an' with love?”

He looked up in surprise: ”The world wouldn't talk if we were married!”

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