and then a light dawned on her.

"Do you mean Jim?" she said. "Why, Jim--" and for a moment a tender
smile broke about her lips, and a light was in her eyes such as would
never be there for the man beside her.

"Oh, Nellie," he groaned, "am I too late after all? I only want to take
care of you, Nellie--only to take care of you."

He stepped forward and caught her hands, holding them fiercely as Jim
Newton himself might have done.

"Nellie, if you won't let me do anything else, let me help you; for your
own sake let me help you."

Clearly outlined they stood against the summer sky; if there should be
anybody in the creek-bed, lurking among the rushes and scrub round the
waterhole, they would be plainly visible to him. Their attitudes were
significant, and their speech was inaudible. If Jim should be there,
thought Nellie, and then dismissed the thought. Rash as he was, he would
never be so foolhardy as that. And yet she might have noticed a slight
movement among the reeds--might have remembered that Gentleman Jim found
no companionship in her brothers, and would be pretty sure to find his
way to the water-hole at any risk, if it were only to vary the monotony
and to see how the land lay. And so after one vain effort to free
her hands, she stood still and listened, while Fisher poured into her
unwilling, uncomprehending ears the story of his love for her, and then,
since that made no impression, he warned her again and again against
Gentleman Jim. Foolishly warned her--for was ever woman yet warned
against the man she loved. An angry gleam flashed into Nellie's eyes,
and she stamped her feet and strove to draw away her hands again.

"I hate you--I hate you. He is good, I tell you--good--good--good! He
loves me an'"--oh, the unanswerable argument all the world over--"I
love him."

Fisher dropped her hands.

"Oh Nell! Nell! My God! it is too hard."

She looked at him wonderingly, and a dawning pity softened her face. It
had never occurred to her that this man could feel any pain. She read it
in his haggard face now, and because she was pitiful of all things she
put her hand on his arm and said gently, "Poor Ben, I 'm sorry."

It was too much--Fisher had stood her coldness, had heeded not her
anger--but the pretty, wistful face looking up so pitifully into his was
too much for him. He could resist temptation no longer, he caught her
in his arms and smothered her with kisses. Clearly it was marked against
the sky,