id. "I never heard a man talk as you have been
talking, that is all. The rest of them are cynical and hard and cold.
They would be ashamed to say the things you have said. No, no!" she
cried, laying her hand on his arm as he made a little uneasy movement,
"do not misunderstand me. I like it. I love it. It does me good. I had
lost faith. It is not nice to know the other kind--well."

"You speak bitterly," he expostulated.

She laughed. "It is a common experience enough. Pray that you may never
know it. I began as a little child, loving and trusting every one, and
giving my full free heart and confidence to every one who offered his
best to me. All I can say is, that I am thankful for you that you have
escaped the suffering such blind trust leads to."

She laughed again, bitterly, and threw her arms out.

"I suppose I shall go on trusting people forever. It's in my nature,
and I can't help it."

"I hope you will feel you can trust me," said he, troubled at this
passion so much beyond his experience. "I would do anything for you."

"Do! do!" she cried with contempt. "Yes. Any number of people will _do_
anything for me. I want some one to _be_ for me!"

"I'm so sorry!" he said simply, but with great feeling.

"Don't pity me, don't believe in me!" she cried suddenly in a passion.
"I am not worth it. I am cruel and hard and cold, and I'll never care
for anybody in any way. My nature has been hardened. I _can't_ be good.
I can't care for people. I _can't_ think of giving way to it. It
frightens me."

She burst into sudden tears and sobbed convulsively. In a moment she
became calm. Then she took her hands from her eyes and smiled. In the
distress of his sympathy Bennington thought he had never seen anything
more beautiful than this breaking forth of the light.

"You must think I am a very peculiar young person," she said, "but I
told you I was a mystery. I am a little tired to-day, that's all."

The conversation took a lighter tone and ran on the subject of the new
horse. She was much interested, inquiring of his colour, his size, his
gaits, whether he had been tried.

"I'll tell you what we will do," she suggested; "we'll go on an
expedition some day. I have a pony too. We will fill up our saddlebags
and cook our own dinner. I know a nice little place over toward Blue
Lead."

"I've one suggestion to add," put in Bennington, "and that is, that we
go to-morrow."

She looked a trifle doubtful.

"I don't know. A