ed me till just a little while ago. Said
it was all a yarn about the other girls he met.

"He was quiet, and soft as could be. I never saw Joe just the way he
was to-day. But I don't feel to Joe as I used to. He has sort of
killed the liking I once had for him.

"I got angry about the brooch then. I took it off and handed it back
to him.

"'Here's your brooch, Joe,' I said. 'I didn't know you gave it to me
just to make me marry you. I don't love you, Joe, and I won't marry a
man I don't love. You mustn't ask me again. You get somebody else.'

"Big Joe was just like a baby. His face turned white.

"'You're in love with Bremner,' he said, catching me by the wrist. I
drew myself away.

"'I'm not,' I said. 'I like him better than I like any other man,--you
included,--but I don't love him any more than he loves me.'"

Rita looked up at me and her eyes filled with tears.

"'Ain't Bremner in love with you?' Joe asked.

"'No!' I said.

"Then Joe got terribly mad.

"'By God in Heaven!' he cried, 'I'll kill that son-of-a-gun, if I hang
for it!'

"He meant you, George. He went off into the wood, leaving me standing
like a silly.

"Say! George,--the way Joe said that, makes me afraid that some day he
will kill you."

"Don't you worry your little head about that, Rita," I said.

"Oh!--that's all very well,--but Joe Clark's a big man. He's the
strongest man on the coast. He's always in some mix-up and he always
comes out on top. And I'm more afraid for you, because you are not
afraid of him."

I rowed Rita across home that evening in order to reassure her, and, on
our journey, neither sound nor sign did we experience of Joe Clark.

When the time came again for her next lesson, Rita seemed to have
forgotten her former fears.

I had fixed up a blind over the window and had drawn it down, so that
no more imaginary peering faces would disturb the harmony of our lesson
and our conversation.

How long we sat there by the stove, I could not say; but Rita was soft,
and gentle, and tender that night,--sweet, suppliant and loving. She
was all woman.

When our lesson was over, she sat at my feet as usual. She crossed her
fingers over my knee and rested her cheek there, with a sigh of
contentment.

I stroked her hair and passed my fingers through the long strands of
its black, glossy darkness, and I watched the pretty curves of her red,
sensitive lips.

"Rita! Rita!" I questioned in my heart, as