her
lips a little, muffled sound.

"Why--Collie!" cried Moore, astounded. "Good Heavens! Don't cry! I--I
didn't mean anything. I only wanted to feel you--touch your hand."

"Here," she answered, blindly holding out her hand, groping for his till
she found it. Her other was still pressed to her eyes. One moment longer
would Columbine keep her secret--hide her eyes--revel in the unutterable
joy and sadness of this crisis that could come to a woman only once.

"What in the world?" ejaculated the cowboy, now bewildered. But he
possessed himself of the trembling hand offered. "Collie, you act so
strange.... You're not crying!... Am I only locoed, or flighty, or what?
Dear, look at me."

Columbine swept her hand from her eyes with a gesture of utter
surrender.

"Wilson, I'm ashamed--and sad--and gloriously happy," she said, with
swift breathlessness.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because of--of something I have to tell you," she whispered.

"What is that?"

She bent over him.

"Can't you guess?"

He turned pale, and his eyes burned with intense fire.

"I won't guess ... I daren't guess."

"It's something that's been true for years--forever, it seems--something
I never dreamed of till last night," she went on, softly.

"Collie!" he cried. "Don't torture me!"

"Do you remember long ago--when we quarreled so dreadfully--because you
kissed me?" she asked.

"Do you think I could kiss _you_--and live to forget?"

"I love you!" she whispered, shyly, feeling the hot blood burn her.

That whisper transformed Wilson Moore. His arm flashed round her neck
and pulled her face down to his, and, holding her in a close embrace, he
kissed her lips and cheeks and wet eyes, and then again her lips,
passionately and tenderly.

Then he pressed her head down upon his breast.

"My God! I can't believe! Say it again!" he cried, hoarsely.

Columbine buried her flaming face in the blanket covering him, and her
hands clutched it tightly. The wildness of his joy, the strange strength
and power of his kisses, utterly changed her. Upon his breast she lay,
without desire to lift her face. All seemed different, wilder, as she
responded to his appeal: "Yes, I love you! Oh, I love--love--love you!"

"Dearest!... Lift your face.... It's true now. I know. It's proved. But
let me look at you."

Columbine lifted herself as best she could. But she was blinded by tears
and choked with utterance that would not come, and in the grip of a
shudder