in accordance with the provisions of my granduncle's
will. So you see, unless I accept my--the person named in the will, I
shall be as dowerless as any proud poor man could ask."

"But you will accept your cousin," said Brockway, quickly putting
Fleetwell's name into the hesitant little pause.

She looked steadfastly at the great peak and shook her head.

"I shall not," she answered, and her voice was so low that Brockway saw
rather than heard the denial.

"Why?" he demanded.

She turned to him with sudden reproach in her eyes. "You press me too
hardly, but I suppose I have given you the right. The reason is because
I--I don't think enough of him in the right way."

"Tell me one other thing, if you can--if you will. Do you love someone
else?" His voice was steadier now, and his eyes held her so that she
could not turn back to the shining mountain, as she wanted to. None the
less, she answered him truthfully, as she had promised.

"I do."

"Is he a poor man?"

"He says he is."

"How poor?"

"As poor as you said you were a moment ago."

"And you will give up all that you have had--all that you could
keep--and go out into the world with him to take up life at its
beginnings?"

"If he asks me to. But he will not ask me; he is too proud."

"How do you know?"

His gaze wavered for an instant, and she turned away quickly. "Because
he has told me so."

Brockway rose rather unsteadily and went to the rivulet to get a drink.
The sweetly maddening truth was beginning to beat its way into his
brain, and he stood dazed for a moment before he remembered that he had
brought no drinking-cup. Then he knelt by the stream, and, turning his
silk travelling-cap inside out, filled it to the brim with the clear,
cold water. His hands trembled a little, but he made shift to carry it
to her without spilling much.

"It is a type of all that I have to offer you, besides myself--not even
so much as a cup to drink out of," he said, and his voice was steadier
than his hands. "Will you let me be your cup-bearer--always?"

She was moved to smile at the touch of old-world chivalry, but she fell
in with his mood and put his hands away gently.

"No--after you; it is I who should serve." And when he had touched his
lips to the water, she drank deeply and thanked him.

Brockway thrust the dripping cap absently into his pocket, and stood
looking down on her like a man in a maze; stood so long that she glanced
up with a quizzical