and you will be
blessed with such woman's love as you never dreamed of. It may be
hard, though, for you to change her mind."

"I won't try, Mother."

"Go to her, then, and fill her with the hope you've given me."

CHAPTER SEVEN

From a thick clump of trees Pan had watched Lucy, spied upon her with
only love, tenderness, pity in his heart. But he did not know her. It
seemed incredible that he could confess to himself he loved her. Had
the love he had cherished for a child suddenly, as if by magic, leaped
into love for a woman? What then was this storm within him, this
outward bodily trembling from the tumult within?

Lucy stood like a statue, gazing into nothingness. Then she paced to
and fro, her hands clenched on her breast. This was a secluded nook,
where a bench had been built between two low-branching trees, on the
bank of the stream. Pan stealthily slipped closer, so he could get
clearer sight of her face. Was her love for him the cause of her
emotion?

Presently he halted, at a point close to one end of her walk, and
crouched down. It did not occur to him that he was trespassing upon
her privacy. She was a stranger whom he loved because she was Lucy
Blake, grown from child to woman. He was concerned with finding
himself, so that when he faced her again he would know what to do, to
say.

Pan had not encountered a great many girls in the years he had ridden
the ranges. But he had seen enough to recognize beauty when it was
thrust upon him. And Lucy had that. As she paced away from him the
small gold head, the heavy braid of hair, the fine build of her, not
robust, yet strong and full, answered then and there the wondering
query of his admiration. Then she turned to pace back. This would be
an ordeal for him. She was in trouble, and he could not hide there
much longer. Yet he wanted to watch her, to grasp from this agitation
fuel for his kindling passion. She had been weeping, yet her face was
white. Indeed she did look older than her seventeen years. Closer she
came. Then Pan's gaze got as far as her eyes and fixed there.
Unmasked now, true to the strife of her soul, they betrayed to Pan the
thing he yearned so to know. Not only her love but her revolt!

That was enough for him. In a few seconds his feelings underwent a
tremendous gamut of change, at last to set with the certainty of a
man's love for his one woman. This conviction seemed consciously
backed by the stern fac