ly. "Oh, don't, don't! please
don't!" she pleaded. The dream faded, and she awoke to the reality of
her position. The brown head bowed, dropped into her hands. Her whole
body shook. "Oh, what have I done!" she sobbed. "Oh, what have I done!
Oh--oh--oh--"

For a time, neither of them realized nor cared how long, they sat side
by side, though separate now. Warmly and brightly as before, the sun
shone down upon them. A breath of breeze, born of the heated earth,
wandered gently over the land. The big thoroughbred shifted on its feet
and whinnied suggestively.

Gradually the girl's hysterical weeping grew quieter. The sobs came less
frequently, and at last ceased. Ben Blair slowly arose, folded his arms,
and waited. Another minute passed. Florence Baker, the storm over,
glanced up at her companion--at first hesitatingly, then openly and
soberly. She stood up, almost at his side; but he did not turn. Awe,
contrition, strange feelings and emotions flooded her anew. She reached
out her hand and touched him on the arm; at first hesitatingly, then
boldly, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Ben," she pleaded, "Ben, forgive me. I've hurt you terribly; but I
didn't mean to. I am as I am; I can't help it. I can't promise to do
what you ask--can't say I love you now, or promise to love you in the
future." She looked up into his face. "Won't you forgive me?"

Still the man did not turn. "There's nothing to forgive, Florence," he
said sadly. "I misunderstood it all."

"But there is something for me to say," she went on swiftly. "I knew
from the first what you were going to tell me, and knew I couldn't give
you what you asked; yet I let you think differently. It's all my fault,
Ben, and I'm so sorry!" She gently and timidly stroked the shoulder of
the rough flannel shirt. "I should have stopped you, and told you my
reasons; but they seemed so weak, and somehow I couldn't help listening
to you." There was a hesitating pause. "Would you like to hear my
reasons now?"

"Just as you please." There was no unkindness in the voice--only
resignation and acceptance of the hard fact she had already made known
to him.

Florence hesitated. A catch came into her throat, and she dropped her
head to the broad shoulder as before.

"Ben, Ben!" she almost sobbed, "I can't tell you, after all. It'll only
hurt you again."

He was looking out over the prairies, watching the heat-waves that arose
in fantastic circles, as in Spring. "You c