d; but if it's any
satisfaction to you, I'm tellin' you that all the time I was treatin'
you mean I felt like kickin' myself.

"I reckon that's all. Don't get the idea that I'm doin' any mushin'.
It's just the plain truth, an' I've had to tell you. That's why I came
over here--I wanted to square things with you before I leave. I reckon
if I'd stay here you'd never know how I feel about it."

She was staring at the floor, her face crimson, an emotion of deep
gratitude and satisfaction filling her, though mingled with it was a
queer sensation of regret. Her judgment of him had been vindicated;
she had known all along that this moment would come, but, now that it
had come, it was not as she had pictured it--there was discord where
there should be harmony; something was lacking to make the situation
perfect--he was going away.

She stood nervously tapping the floor with the toe of her shoe, hardly
hearing his last words, almost forgetting that he was in the room until
she saw his hand extended toward her. Then she looked up at him.
There was a grave smile on his face.

"I reckon you'll shake hands with me," he said, "just to show that you
ain't holdin' much against me. Well, that right," he said when she
hesitated; "I don't deserve it."

Her hand went out; he looked at it, with a start, and then seized it
quickly in both of his, squeezed it hard, his eyes aflame. He dropped
it as quickly, and turned to the door, saying: "You're a brave little
girl."

She stood silent until his hands were on the fastenings of the door.

"Wait!" she said. She attempted to smile, but some emotion stiffened
her lips, stifling it. "You haven't had your supper," she said; "won't
you eat if I get it ready?"

"No time," he said. "The law don't advertise its movements, as a usual
thing, an' Toban's liable to be here any minute. An'," he added, a
glint of the old hardness in his eyes, "I ain't lettin' him take me.
It's only twenty miles to the line, an' the way I'm intendin' to travel
I'll be over it before Toban can ketch me. I don't want him to ketch
me--he was a friend of my dad's, an' puttin' him out of business
wouldn't help me none."

"Will you be safe, then?" she asked fearfully.

"I reckon. But I won't be stoppin' at the line. I'm through here;
there's nothin' here to hold me. I reckon I'll never come back this
way. Shucks!" he added, leaving the door and coming back a little way
into the room; "I expect I'm excit