I don't mean that." He stopped and considered, his forehead creased
as if he were half angry at the imputation. "I'm pretty sure of where I
stand, on that subject. I've done a lot of thinking, since I hit the
Double Cross--and I've cut out whisky for good.

"I know what you thought, and what Mrs. Kate thinks yet; and I'll admit
it was mighty tough scratching for a couple of days after I got hold of
that jug. But I found out which was master--and it wasn't the booze!" He
looked at her with eyes that shone. "Josie, girl, I took a long
chance--but I put it up to myself this way, when the jug seemed to be on
top. I told myself it was whisky or you; not that exactly, either. It's
hard to say just what I do mean. Not you, maybe--but what you stand for.
What I could get out of life, if I was straight and lived clean, and had
a little woman like you. It may not be you at all; that's as you--"

He stopped as if some one had laid a hand over his mouth. It was not as
she said. It might have been, only for that drunken marriage of his.
Never before had he hated whisky as bitterly as he did then, when he
remembered what it had done for him that night in Sunset, and what it
was doing now. It closed his lips upon what he would have given much to
be able to say; for he was a man with all the instincts of chivalry and
honor--and he loved the girl. It was, he realized bitterly, just because
he did love her so well, that he could not say more. He had said too
much already; but her nearness had gone to his head, and he had
forgotten that he was not free to say what he felt.

Perhaps Josephine mistook his sudden silence for trepidation, or
humility. At any rate she reined impulsively close, and reached out and
caught the hand hanging idly at his side.

"Ford, I'm no coquette," she said straightforwardly, with a blush for
maiden-modesty's sake. "I believe you; absolutely and utterly I believe
you. If you had been different at first--if you had made any overtures
whatever toward--toward lovemaking, I should have despised you. I
never would have loved you in this world! But you didn't. You kept at
such a distance that I--I couldn't help thinking about you and studying
you. And lately--when I knew you were fighting the--the habit--I loved
you for the way you did fight. I was afraid, too. I used to slip into
your room every time you left it, and look--and I just ached to help
you! But I knew I couldn't do a thing; and that was the hardest par