h--death--death--an' no less."

Gentleman Jim struck the cards out of her hand roughly, and they went
flying to all corners of the hut.

"Come outside, Nell--come down to the waterhole, it's cool there, and
better fun than listening to an old woman's twaddle. The sun's down now.
Come on."

She looked at her grandmother first, partly from habit, but the old
woman was still wringing her hands over the danger foretold by the
cards, and was blind for the moment to that right under her eyes. So
Nellie followed him gladly, only too gladly, down the steep bank to the
waterhole. He pushed her down somewhat roughly under the shadow of the
western bank, and then flung himself down on the ground beside her,
and put his head in her lap. With her little work-hardened hand, she
smoothed back his black hair, and he looked up into her face.

"So you love me, Nellie?" he said, somewhat abruptly. "You be sure you
love me?"

It was hardly a question, he was too certain of it, and no man should be
certain of a woman's love.

She made no answer in words, but the pretty blue eyes smiled down at him
so confidingly, that for a moment the man was smitten with remorse. What
good would this love ever do her?

"You poor child!" he said. "You poor little girl. I believe you do.
Don't do it, Nellie--don't be such a fool."

"Why?" she asked simply.

"Why? Because I shall do you no good."

"But I love you," she whimpered, "an' you won't harm me."

"No, by ---- I won't." And for the moment perhaps he meant to keep his
oath, for he half rose, as if there and then he would have left her.
Perhaps it was too much to expect--all his companions feared him, the
outside world hunted him, only this woman believed in him and loved him;
and if it is a great thing to be loved, it is a still greater thing to
be believed in and trusted. And so when she put her arms around him and
drew him back he yielded.

"It is your own fault, Nell, your own fault--don't blame me."

"No," she said, satisfied because he had stayed. "I won't--never." Then
she ran her fingers through his hair again.

"I saw a gray hair in the sunshine," she said.

"A gray hair--a dozen--a hundred. My life is calculated to raise a few
gray hairs."

"But why--?"

"Why? Why--once on the downward path you can't stop, my dear. However
the path has led me to your arms, so common politeness should make me
commend the road by which I came."

"You are always good."

"Good! great Heav