like
myself more satisfactory to live with. It's for you to decide. Only--it
seems a pity to waste your life waiting for someone who will never come."

She could not contradict him. The argument was too obvious. She longed to
put that steady hand away from her, but she felt physically incapable of
doing so. An odd powerlessness possessed her. She was as one caught in a
trap.

Yet after a second or two she mustered strength to ask a question to
which she had long desired an answer. "Did you ever hear any more of
him?"

"Not for certain. I believe he left the country, but I don't know.
Anyway, he found this district too hot to hold him, for he never broke
cover in this direction again. I should have had him if he had."

Fletcher Hill spoke with a grim assurance. He was holding her before him,
one hand on her shoulder, the other grasping hers. Abruptly he bent
towards her.

"Come!" he said. "It's going to be 'Yes,' isn't it?"

She looked up at him with troubled eyes. Suddenly she shivered as
if an icy blast had caught her. "Oh, I'm frightened!" she said. "I'm
frightened!"

"Nonsense!" said Hill.

He drew her gently to him and held her. She was shaking from head to
foot. She began to sob, hopelessly, like a lost child.

"Don't!" he said. "Don't! It's all right. I'll take care of you. I'll
make you happy. I swear to God I'll make you happy!"

It was forcibly spoken, and it showed her more of the man's inner nature
than she had ever seen before. Almost in spite of herself she was
touched. She leaned against him, fighting her weakness.

"It isn't--fair to you," she murmured at last.

"That's my affair," said Hill.

She kept her face hidden from him, and he did not seek to raise it; but
there was undoubted possession in the holding of his arms.

After a moment or two she spoke again. "What will you do if--if you find
you're not--happy with me?"

"I'll take my chance of that," said Fletcher Hill. He added, under his
breath, "I'll be good to you--in any case."

That moved her. She lifted her face impulsively. "You--you are much nicer
than I thought you were," she said.

He bent to her. "It isn't very difficult to be that," he said, with a
somewhat sardonic touch of humour. "I haven't a very high standard to
beat, have I?"

It was not very lover-like. Perhaps, he feared to show her too much of
his soul just then, lest he seem to be claiming more than she was
prepared to offer. Perhaps that reserve of his w