to repay every penny spent for me.
Forgive me," he added with a smile, "I suppose it is my mountain blood
that makes me want to be free."

Mr. Polk, looking at the strong young face, knew that he must yield,
and so the money was advanced for Steve's college expenses with the
understanding that it was a loan.

The two college years were busy and profitable ones for Steve. He was
fond of study and the regular courses of the school led him into new
lines of interest while he still pursued his specialties of geology
and mining engineering. The companionship of young men and women of
inherited culture and opportunity of the best type was broadening and
a fine means of general culture for him. Among the young women with
whom he was thrown there developed no special interest for him, though
he often wondered why. He, however, came to smile as he questioned his
own heart or was questioned by chums, while he said, "We of mountain
blood are slow, you know," and he failed to note how certain memories
of soft yellow curls above a little white pinafore were so sacred that
he never mentioned them.

He matured greatly in the two years, and at twenty-one was
broad-shouldered from college athletics, six feet two in height, and
his abundant dark hair with a suggestion of curl at the ends crowned a
fine, clean-cut, somewhat slender face which in repose was serious,
but possessed of a hidden smile which had formed the habit of flashing
out suddenly, transforming his face with a peculiar radiance.

For the Christmas holidays of his last year at college he went home to
the Polks as usual and one evening sat at the opera beside Nita
Trowbridge in a little family party which included her. During all his
comings and goings of the school years he had seen Nita with almost
the familiarity of a brother. She was the child of middle age, petted
and spoiled and much of a society butterfly as she developed into
young ladyhood, though a very lovable one. Mr. and Mrs. Polk were
greatly attached to her, and though it had not been hinted at, Steve
knew that Mr. Polk would like nothing better than that they should
marry when he was established in business. How Mrs. Polk would feel
about it he was not so sure. Perhaps she doubted their congeniality of
tastes.

As Nita sat beside him on this evening she watched Steve's rapt
enjoyment of Wagner's beautiful, weird melodies. Between acts she
said:

"How intensely you enjoy music!"

"Yes," he returned,