ed her hair and mouth and hands and
the ruffle at her throat. "Poor silly Betty," he repeated, "where is your
wisdom now?"

"You have turned it into folly, sad little wisdom that it was."

"Well, I prefer your folly," he said gravely. "It was folly that made you
love me at the first; it was pure folly that brought you out to me that
night at Chericoke--but the greatest folly of all is just this, my dear."

"But it will keep you safe."

"Who knows? I may get shot to-morrow. There, there, I only said it to feel
your arms about me."

Her hands clung to him and the tears, rising to her lashes, fell fast upon
his coat.

"Oh, don't let me lose you," she begged. "I have lost so much--don't let me
lose you, too."

"Living or dead, I am yours, that I swear."

"But I don't want you dead. I want the feel of you. I want your hands, your
face. I want _you_."

"Betty, Betty," he said softly. "Listen, for there is no word in the world
that means so much as just your name."

"Except yours."

"No interruptions, this is martial law. Dear, dearest, darling, are all
empty sounds; but when I say 'Betty,' it is full of life."

"Say it again, then."

"Betty, do you love me?"

"Ask: 'Betty, is the sun shining?'"

"It always shines about you."

"Because my hair is red?"

"Red? It is pure gold. Do you remember when I found that out on the hearth
in free Levi's cabin? The colour went to my head, but when I put out my
hand to touch a curl, you drew away and fastened them up again. Now I have
pulled them all down and you dare not move."

"Shall I tell you why I drew away?"

The tears were still on her lashes, but in the exaltation of a great
passion, life, death, the grave, and things beyond had dwindled like stars
before the rising sun.

"You told me then--because I was 'a pampered poodle dog.' Well, I've
outgrown that objection certainly. Let us hope you have a fancy for lean
hounds."

She put up her hands in protest.

"I drew away partly because I knew you did not love me," she said, meeting
his eyes with her clear and ardent gaze, "but more because--I knew that I
loved you."

"You loved me then? Oh, Betty, if I had only known!"

"If you had known!" She covered her face. "Oh, it was terrible enough as it
was. I wanted to beat myself for shame."

"Shame? In loving me, my darling?"

"In loving you like that."

"Nonsense. If you had only said to me: 'My good sir, I love you a little
bit,' I should have come to