"Yes; but I'm never goin' to marry ye, because mebbe I can't never tell
ye. I think ye might trust me. It's easy when ye love anyone. I say, ye
couldn't marry me without, could ye?" She seemed to suddenly grow old in
her sagacious argument. Horace shook his head sadly.

"We'd never be happy, if I should," said he, "because--because I
couldn't trust you."

"Oh, I want ye to trust me!" she wept. "I want ye to! Won't you once
more? Please do! Won't ye forget that anything ever happened--won't ye?"

For a moment her supplication almost unnerved him; but he thought of
their future, of the necessity of having unlimited faith and honor
between them, and again slowly shook his head.

Suddenly the twisting hands worked themselves loose from his, and in
another instant her feverish arms tightly encircled his neck. By the
weight of Flea's body, Horace Shellington knew that her feet were no
longer on the floor, each muscle in the rigid girl having so well done
its part that she hung straight-limbed against him. Close to his face
drew hers, and for a space of time, the length of which he could never
afterward accurately measure, he forgot everything but the maddening
expression in her face. Her eyelids were closed, and her breath came hot
upon his lips.

"I want ye to kiss me like ye did that night--kiss me--please--please--"
In her low voice was illimitable strength and passion.

Like burning rivers, his blood was driven through his veins. He flung
out his arms and crushed her to him. Just then his lips found hers.

"Dear God! How I--how I love you!" he breathed.

Fledra's arms relaxed and slipped from his shoulders.

"Then forget about what happened!" she panted.

All the bitter apprehensions of the last week swept over him at her
words. His love battled with him, and he wavered. How gladly would he
have dispelled every doubt and listened to her pleading!

"But I want you to tell me, Fledra."

Flea backed slowly from him.

"I can't.... I can't.... I can't tell anybody!"

The man ran his fingers across his forehead in bewilderment. In his
bitter disappointment he turned away.

"When you come to me," his voice broke into huskiness, "when you tell me
what happened that night before you saw my sister, I shall--I shall love
you--forever!"

Then came a single moment of critical silence; but it needed only the
thought of Ann for the girl to toss aside his plea and turn upon her
heel.

"I don't want Sister Ann to know