ot be
mere friends!"

The man did not stir, but his eyes changed color and seemed to grow
darker. "No," he said, "we cannot be mere friends; I care for you too
much for that. And I cannot be silent when I came away off here to see
you. I would never respect myself again if I were. You can do what you
please, say what you please, and I'll not resent it--because it is you.
I will love you as long as I live. I am not ashamed of this, because it
is you I love, Florence Baker." He paused, looking tenderly at the
girl's bowed head.

"Florence," he went on gently, "you don't know what you are to me, or
what your having left me means. I often go over to your old ranch of a
night and sit there alone, thinking of you, dreaming of you. Sometimes
it is all so vivid that I almost feel that you are near, and before I
know it I speak your name. Then I realize you are not there, and I feel
so lonely that I wish I were dead. I think of to-morrow, and the next
day, and the next--the thousands of days that I'll have to live through
without you--and I wonder how I am going to do it."

The girl's face sank deeper into her hands. A muffled sob escaped her.
"Please don't say any more!" she pleaded. "Please don't! I can't stand
it!"

But the man only looked at her steadily.

"I must finish," he said. "I may never have a chance to say this to you
again, and something compels me to tell you of myself, for you are my
good angel. In many ways it is of necessity a rough life I lead, but you
are always with me, and I am the better for it. I haven't drank a drop
since I came to know that I loved you, and we ranchers are not
accustomed to that, Florence. But I never will drink as long as I live;
for I'll think of you, and I couldn't then if I would. Once you saved me
from something worse than drink. There was a man who shot Mr. Rankin and
before this, from almost the first thought I can remember, I had sworn
that if I ever met him I would kill him. We did meet. I followed him day
after day until at last I caught up with him, until he was down and my
hands were upon his throat. But I didn't hurt him, Florence, after all;
I thought of you just in time."

He was silent, and suddenly the place seemed as still as an empty
church. The girl's sobs were almost hysterical. The man's mood changed;
he reached over and touched her gently on the shoulder.

"Forgive me for hurting you, Florence," he said. "I--I couldn't help
telling you."

Involuntarily