white,
slender shape flashed from beside the black tree-trunk and flew toward
him. It was noiseless, like a specter, and swift as the wind. Was he
dreaming? He felt so strange. Then--the white shape reached him and he
knew.

Lucy leaped into his arms.

"Lin! Lin! Oh, I'm so--so glad to see you!" she whispered. She seemed
breathless, keen, new to him, not in the least afraid nor shy. Slone
could only hold her. He could not have spoken, even if she had given
him a chance. "I know everything--what they accuse you of--how the
riders treated you--how my dad struck you. Oh! ... He's a brute! I hate
him for that. Why didn't you keep out of his way? ... Van saw it all.
Oh, I hate him, too! He said you lay still--where you fell! ... Dear
Lin, that blow may have hurt you dreadfully--shamed you because you
couldn't strike back at my dad--but it reached me, too. It hurt me. It
woke my heart.... Where--where did he hit you? Oh, I've seen him hit
men! His terrible fists!"

"Lucy, never mind," whispered Slone. "I'd stood to be shot just for
this."

He felt her hands softly on his face, feeling around tenderly till they
found the swollen bruise on mouth and chin.

"Ah! ... He struck you. And I--I'll kiss you," she whispered. "If
kisses will make it well--it'll be well!"

She seemed strange, wild, passionate in her tenderness. She lifted her
face and kissed him softly again and again and again, till the touch
that had been exquisitely painful to his bruised lips became rapture.
Then she leaned back in his arms, her hands on his shoulders,
white-faced, dark-eyed, and laughed up in his face, lovingly, daringly,
as if she defied the world to change what she had done.

"Lucy! Lucy! ... He can beat me--again!" said Slone, low and hoarsely.

"If you love me you'll keep out of his way," replied the girl.

"If I love you? ... My God! ... I've felt my heart die a thousand times
since that mornin'--when--when you--"

"Lin, I didn't know," she interrupted, with sweet, grave earnestness.
"I know now!"

And Slone could not but know, too, looking at her; and the sweetness,
the eloquence, the noble abandon of her avowal sounded to the depths of
him. His dread, his resignation, his shame, all sped forever in the
deep, full breath of relief with which he cast off that burden. He
tasted the nectar of happiness, the first time in his life. He lifted
his head--never, he knew, to lower it again. He would be true to what
she had made him.

"