"Yes, I've met him a few times, around places."

"Did he ever speak of--of me?"

"Once or twice, and then as if he couldn't help it."

"What did he say?"

"Well, the last time he seemed hungry to hear something about you. He
didn't exactly ask, but, all the same, he was begging. So I told him."

"What?"

"Oh, how you were dressed, how you looked, what you said, what you
did--all about you. Don't be offended with me, Miss Sampson. It was real
charity. I talk too much. It's my weakness. Please don't be offended."

She never heard my apology or my entreaty. There was a kind of glory in
her eyes. Looking at her, I found a dimness hazing my sight, and when I
rubbed it away it came back.

"Then--what did he say?" This was whispered, almost shyly, and I could
scarcely believe the proud Miss Sampson stood before me.

"Why, he flew into a fury, called me an--" Hastily I caught myself.
"Well, he said if I wanted to talk to him any more not to speak of you.
He was sure unreasonable."

"Russ--you think--you told me once--he--you think he still--" She was
not facing me at all now. She had her head bent. Both hands were at her
breast, and I saw it heave. Her cheek was white as a flower, her neck
darkly, richly red with mounting blood.

I understood. And I pitied her and hated myself and marveled at this
thing, love. It made another woman out of Diane Sampson. I could
scarcely comprehend that she was asking me, almost beseechingly, for
further assurance of Steele's love. I knew nothing of women, but this
seemed strange. Then a thought sent the blood chilling back to my heart.
Had Diane Sampson guessed the guilt of her father? Was it more for his
sake than for her own that she hoped--for surely she hoped--that Steele
loved her?

Here was more mystery, more food for reflection. Only a powerful motive
or a self-leveling love could have made a woman of Diane Sampson's pride
ask such a question. Whatever her reason, I determined to assure her,
once and forever, what I knew to be true. Accordingly, I told her in
unforgettable words, with my own regard for her and love for Sally
filling my voice with emotion, how I could see that Steele loved her,
how madly he was destined to love her, how terribly hard that was going
to make his work in Linrock.

There was a stillness about her then, a light on her face, which brought
to my mind thought of Sally when I had asked her to marry me.

"Russ, I beg you--bring us together," sai