rebellious wisp of hair.

She blushed prettily at sight of her caller. "I didn't know it was you
when I called to come in. Thought it was Keith playing a trick on me."

Both of them were embarrassed. She did not know what to do with him in
the kitchen and he did not know what to do with himself. The girl was
acutely conscious that yesterday she had flung herself into his arms
without shame.

"I'll go right on with my pies if you don't mind," she said. "I can talk
while I work."

"Yes."

But neither of them talked. She rolled pie-crust while the silence grew
significant.

"Are your burns still painful?" she asked at last, to make talk.

"Yes--no. Beg pardon, I--I was thinking of something else."

Joyce flashed one swift look at him. She knew that an emotional crisis
was upon her. He was going to brush aside the barriers between them. Her
pulses began to beat fast. There was the crash of music in her blood.

"I've got to tell you, Joyce," he said abruptly. "It's been a fight for
me ever since I came home. I love you. I think I always have--even when
I was in prison."

She waited, the eyes in her lovely, flushed face shining.

"I had no right to think of you then," he went on. "I kept away from you.
I crushed down hope. I nursed my bitterness to prove to me there could
never be anything between us. Then Miller confessed and--and we took our
walk over the hills. After that the sun shone. I came out from the mists
where I had been living."

"I'm glad," she said in a low voice. "But Miller's confession made no
difference in my thought of you. I didn't need that to know you."

"But I couldn't come to you even then. I knew how Bob Hart felt, and
after all he'd done for me it was fair he should have first chance."

She looked at him, smiling shyly. "You're very generous."

"No. I thought you cared for him. It seemed to me any woman must. There
aren't many men like Bob."

"Not many," she agreed. "But I couldn't love Bob because"--her steadfast
eyes met his bravely--"because of another man. Always have loved him,
ever since that night years ago when he saved my father's life. Do you
really truly love me, Dave?"

"God knows I do," he said, almost in a whisper.

"I'm glad--oh, awf'ly glad." She gave him her hands, tears in her soft
brown eyes. "Because I've been waiting for you so long. I didn't know
whether you ever were coming to me."

Crawford found them there ten minutes later. He was looking for Joyce to