arsome gashes, with
sides precipitous, as though she had some priceless treasure hidden away
in the deep, where man cannot despoil it. And if you plot and plan,
and try very hard, you may reach the bottom at last and find the
treasure--nothing. Or, perhaps, a tiny little stream, as jealously
guarded as though each drop were priceless."

Sir Richmond rode for a few minutes in silence. When he spoke, it was
abruptly.

"And is that all? Is there nothing to this delightful summer, after all,
but your hills?"

"Oh, of course, I--it has all been delightful. I shall hate to go back
home, I think." Beatrice was a bit startled to find just how much she
would hate to go back and wrap herself once more in the conventions of
society life. For the first time since she could remember, she wanted
her world to stand still.

Sir Redmond went doggedly to the point he had in mind and heart.

"I hoped, Beatrice, you would count me, too. I've tried to be patient.
You know, don't you, that I love you?"

"You've certainly told me often enough," she retorted, in a miserable
attempt at her old manner.

"And you've put me off, and laughed at me, and did everything under
heaven but answer me fairly. And I've acted the fool, no doubt. I know
it. I've no courage before a woman. A curl of your lip, and I was ready
to cut and run. But I can't go on this way forever--I've got to know.
I wish I could talk as easy as I can fight; I'd have settled the thing
long ago. Where other men can plead their cause, I can say just the one
thing--I love you, Beatrice. When I saw you first, in the carriage I
loved you then. You had some fur--brown fur--snuggled under your chin,
and the pink of your cheeks, and your dear, brown eyes shining and
smiling above--Good God! I've always loved you! From the beginning of
the world, I think! I'd be good to you, Beatrice, and I believe I could
make you happy--if you give me the chance."

Something in Beatrice's throat ached cruelly. It was the truth, and she
knew it. He did love her, and the love of a brave man is not a thing
to be thrust lightly aside. But it demanded such a lot in return!
More, perhaps, than she could give. A love like that--a love that gives
everything--demands everything in return. Anything less insults it.

She stole a glance at him. Sir Redmond was looking straight before him,
with the fixed gaze that sees nothing. There was the white line around
his mouth which Beatrice had seen once before. A