darkness for five full minutes
before he ventured to say what was in his mind.

When he spoke it was earnestly and to the purpose, not without
eloquence. He loved her; had always loved her, he thought. Could she
not, with time and the will to try, learn to love him?--not as a
cousin?

She turned quickly and put both hands on his shoulders.

"Oh, Cousin Billy--_don't_!" she faltered brokenly; and he, seeing at
once that he had played the housebreaker where he would fain have been
the welcome guest, took his punishment manfully, drawing her arm in
his and walking her yet other turns up and down the long platform
until his patience and the silence had wrought their perfect work.

"Does it hurt much?" she asked softly, after a long time.

"You would have to change places with me to know just how much it
hurts," he answered. "And yet you haven't left me quite desolate,
Virginia. I still have something left--all I've ever had, I fancy."

"And that is--"

"My love for you, you know. It isn't at all contingent upon your yes
or no; or upon possession--it never has been, I think. It has never
asked much except the right to be."

She was silent for a moment. Then she said: "Cousin Billy, I do
believe that you are the best man that ever lived. And I am
ashamed--ashamed!"

"What for?"

"If I have spoiled you, ever so little, for some truer, worthier
woman."

"You haven't," he responded; "you mustn't take that view of it. I am
decently in love with my work--a work that not a few wise men have
agreed could best be done alone. I don't think there will be any other
woman. You see, there is only one Virginia. Shall we go in now?"

She nodded, but when they reached the Rosemary the returning engine
was rattling down upon the open siding. Virginia drew back.

"I don't want to meet Uncle Somerville just now," she confessed.
"Can't we climb up to the observation platform at the other end of the
car?"

He said yes, and made the affirmative good by lifting her in his arms
over the high railing. Once safely on the car, she bade him leave her.

"Slip in quietly and they won't notice," she said. "I'll come
presently."

Calvert obeyed, and Virginia stood alone in the darkness. Down in the
Utah construction camp lights were darting to and fro; and before long
she heard the hoarse puffs of the big octopod, betokening activities.

She was shivering a little in the chill wind sliding down from the
snow-peaks, yet she would not g