e knows the location of the
Mannings' camp, as well as I."

Kitty was a little puzzled by the tone of his laughter, and by his
words. She spoke gravely. "Perhaps I should tell you, Patches--we have
been such good friends, you and I--Phil--"

"Yes!" he said.

"Phil is nothing to me, Patches. I mean--"

"You mean in the way he wanted to be?" He helped her with a touch of
eager readiness.

"Yes."

"And have you told him, Kitty?" Patches asked gently.

"Yes--I have told him," she replied.

Patches was silent for a moment. Then, "Poor Phil!" he said softly. "I
understand now; I thought that was it. He is a man among thousands,
Kitty."

"I know--I know," she returned, as though to dismiss the subject. "But
it simply couldn't be."

Patches was looking at her intently, with an expression in his dark eyes
that Kitty had never before seen. The man's mind was in a whirl of quick
excitement. As they had talked and laughed together, the thought that
had so startled him, when her manner of familiar comradeship had brought
such a feeling of comfort to his troubled spirit, had not left him. From
that first moment of their meeting a year before there had been that
feeling between them, of companionship, a feeling which had grown as
their acquaintance had developed into the intimate friendship that had
allowed him to speak to her as he had spoken that day under the cedars
on the ridge. What might that friendship not grow into! He thought of
her desire for the life that he knew so well, and how he could, while
granting every wish of her heart, yet protect her from the shams and
falseness. And with these thoughts was that feeling of rebellion against
the loneliness of his life.

Kitty's words regarding Phil removed the barrier, as it were, and the
man's nature, which prompted him so often to act without pausing to
consider, betrayed him into saying, "Would you be greatly shocked,
Kitty, if I were to tell you that I am glad? That, while I am sorry for
Phil, I am glad that you have said no to him?"

"You are glad?" she said wonderingly. "Why?"

"Because, now, _I_ am free to say what I could not have said had you not
told me what you have. I want you, Kitty. I want to fill your life with
beauty and happiness and contentment. I want you to go with me to see
and know the natural wonders of the world, and the wonders that men have
wrought. I want to surround you with the beauties of art and literature,
with everything that your