ful blue eyes, an'
your beautiful, beautiful face. You, with your mind as white an' pure
as the mountain snow, an' your heart as precious as the gold our folks
are forever chasin'. I love you, Joan. I love you, every moment I
live. I love you so my two hands ain't enough by a hundred to get
helping you. I love you better than all the world. You're jest--jest
my whole life!"

He stood with his arms outstretched toward the shrinking girl. His
whole body was shaking with the passion that had sent his words
pouring in a tide of unthought, unconsidered appeal. He had no
understanding of whither his words had carried him. All he knew was
that he loved this girl with his whole soul and body. That she could
love him in return was something unbelievable, yet he must tell her.
He must tell her all that was in his simple heart.

He waited. It seemed ages, but in reality it was only moments.

Presently Joan looked up. She raised her eyes timidly, and in a moment
Buck saw that they were filled with unshed tears. He started forward,
but she shrank back farther. But it was not with repugnance. Her
movement was almost reluctant, yet it was decided. It was sufficient
for the man, and slowly, hopelessly he dropped his arms to his sides
as the girl's voice so full of distress at last broke the silence.

"Oh, Buck, Buck, why--oh, why have you said these things to me? You
don't know what you have done. Oh, it was cruel of you."

"Cruel?" Buck started. The color faded from his cheeks. "Me cruel--to
you?"

"Yes, yes. Don't you understand? Can't you see? Now--now there is
nothing left but--disaster. Oh, to think that I should have brought
this upon you--you of all men!"

Buck's eyes suddenly lit. Unversed as he was in all such matters, he
was not blind to the feeling underlying her words. But the light
swiftly died from his eyes as he beheld the great tears roll slowly
down the girl's fair cheeks, and her face droop forward into her
hands.

In a moment all restraint was banished in the uprising of his great
love. Without a thought of consequences he bridged the intervening
space at one step, and, in an instant, his arms were about the slim,
yielding figure he so tenderly loved. In a moment his voice, low,
tender, yet wonderful in its consoling strength, was encouraging her.

"Disaster?" he said. "Disaster because I love you? Where? How? Say,
there's no disaster in my love for you. There can't be. All I ask, all
I need is jest to ma