ing--I wanted to have her for my own. I'm a man.
I've a healthy man's hunger for a beautiful woman, but I've a healthy
man's pride as well." He patted the smooth cheek of the only woman he
had ever known as a mother, and stared at the rough rock wall oozing
moisture that drip-dripped to the pool below.

"I did think I'd go away for awhile," he said after a minute spent in
sober thinking. "But I never dodged yet, and I never ran. I'm going to
stay and see the thing through, now. I don't know--" he hesitated and
then went on. "It may not last; I may have to suffer after awhile, but
standing out there, that day, listening to her carrying on, kind of--oh,
I can't explain it. But I don't believe I wes half as deep in love as I
thought I was. I don't want to say anything against her; I've no right,
for she's a thousand times better than I am. But she's different. She
never would understand our ways, Mother Hart, or look at life as we
do; some people go through life looking at the little things that don't
matter, and passing by the other, bigger things. If you keep your eye
glued to a microscope long enough, you're sure to lose the sense of
proportion.

"She won't speak to me," he continued after a short silence. "I tried to
talk to her yesterday--"

"But you must remember, the poor child was hysterical that day when--she
went on so. She doesn't know anything about the realities of life. She
doesn't mean to be hard."

"Yesterday," said Grant with an odd little smile, "she was not
hysterical. It seems that--shooting--was the last little weight that
tilted the scale against me. I don't think she ever cared two whoops
for me, to tell you the truth. She's been ashamed of my Indian blood all
along; she said so. And I'm not a good lover; I neglected her all the
while this trouble lasted, and I paid more attention to Georgie Howard
than I did to her--and I didn't satisfactorily explain about that hair
and knife that Hagar had. And--oh, it isn't the killing, altogether! I
guess we were both a good deal mistaken in our feelings."

"Well, I hope so," sighed Phoebe, wondering secretly at the decadence of
love. An emotion that could burn high and hot in a week, flare bravely
for a like space, and die out with no seared heart to pay for the
extravagance--she shook her head at it. That was not what she had been
taught to call love, and she wondered how a man and a maid could be
mistaken about so vital an emotion.

"I suppose," she ad