have been dishonest. And--I believe in my friends," she
added, smiling. "Isn't it natural that I should wish to have my judgment
vindicated?"

He got to his feet and walked slowly to the far edge of the rock, where
he stood for a while, seemingly gazing off across the spaces to
Sawanec. It was like him, thus to question the immutable. Victoria sat
motionless, but her eyes followed irresistibly the lines of power in the
tall figure against the sky--the breadth of shoulder and slimness of hip
and length of limb typical of the men who had conquered and held this
land for their descendants. Suddenly, with a characteristic movement
of determination; he swung about and came towards her, and at the same
instant she rose.

"Don't you think we should be going back?" she said.

Rut he seemed not to hear her.

"May I ask you something?" he said.

"That depends," she answered.

"Are you going to marry Mr. Rangely?"

"No," she said, and turned away. "Why did you think that?"

He quivered.

"Victoria!"

She looked up at him, swiftly, half revealed, her eyes like stars
surprised by the flush of dawn in her cheeks. Hope quickened at the
vision of hope, the seats of judgment themselves were filled with
radiance, and rumour, cowered and fled like the spirit of night. He
could only gaze, enraptured.

"Yes?" she answered.

His voice was firm but low, yet vibrant with sincerity, with the vast
store of feeling, of compelling magnetism that was in the man and moved
in spite of themselves those who knew him. His words Victoria remembered
afterwards--all of them; but it was to the call of the voice she
responded. His was the fibre which grows stronger in times of crisis.
Sure of himself, proud of the love which he declared, he spoke as a man
who has earned that for which he prays,--simply and with dignity.

"I love you," he said; "I have known it since I have known you, but you
must see why I could not tell you so. It was very hard, for there were
times when I led myself to believe that you might come to love me. There
were times when I should have gone away if I hadn't made a promise to
stay in Ripton. I ask you to marry me, because I--know that I shall love
you as long as I live. I can give you this, at least, and I can promise
to protect and cherish you. I cannot give you that to which you have
been accustomed all your life, that which you have here at Fairview,
but I shouldn't say this to you if I believed that you cared f