she beheld. Bill
knew. Bill knew all that everybody believed in the valley. He had
done what nobody else had done. He had seen Charlie at his work. A
desperate feeling of tragedy was tugging at her heart. This great big
soul had received the full force of the blow, and somehow she felt
that it had been a staggering blow.

All her sympathy went out to him. Now she utterly ignored his
question. She sat down at the foot of the tree and signed to him.

"Sit here," she said soberly. "Sit here, and--talk to me. You came out
here this morning because--because you wanted to find some one to talk
to. Well?"

Bill obeyed her. There was no question in his mind. She had fathomed
his purpose, and he was glad. He replied to her challenge without
hesitation, and strove to speak lightly. But as he went on all
lightness passed out of his manner, and the girl was left with a full
view of those stirring feelings which he had not the wit nor
inclination to secrete for long.

"Say," he began, "you asked what I was doing here, and guessed
right--first time. Only, maybe you didn't guess it was you I came out
to find. I saw you leave your house, and figured you'd make the new
church. I was going right on down to the new church. Yes, I wanted to
talk--to you. You see, I came here full of a--a sort of hope, and--and
in two days I find the arm of the law reaching out to grab up my
brother. I've given up everything to come and--join. Now I'm up
against it, and I can't just think right. I sort of need some one to
help me think--right. You see, I guessed you could do it."

The man was sitting with his arms clasped about his knees. His big
blue eyes were staring out over the valley. But he saw nothing of it.

Helen, watching him, remained quite unconscious of the tribute to
herself. She was touched. She was filled with a tender feeling she had
never known before. She found herself longing to reach out and take
hold of one of those big, strong hands, and clasp it tightly and
protectingly in her own. She longed to tell him that she understood
his grief, and was yearning to share it with him, that she might
lighten the burden which had fallen upon him. But she did neither of
these things. She just waited for him to continue.

"You see," he went on, slowly, with almost painful deliberation, "I
kind of feel we can think two ways. One with our heads, and the other
with our hearts. That's how I seem to be thinking now. And between the
two I'm all