still now, huddled on the bed's edge, scarcely
breathing.

For the girl was beginning to dare formulate the deepest of any thoughts
that had ever stirred her virgin mind and body.

If it was love, then it had come suddenly, and strangely. It had come
on that day -- at the very moment when he flung her against the tree and
handcuffed her -- that terrible instant -- if it were love.

Or -- what was it that so delicately overwhelmed her with pleasure in
his presence, in his voice, in the light, firm sound of his spurred
tread on the veranda below?

Friendship? A lonely passion for young and decent companionship? The
clean youth of him in contrast to the mangy, surly louts who haunted
Clinch's Dump, -- was that the appeal?

Listening there where she sat clasping the book, she heard his steady
tread patrolling the veranda; caught the faint fragrance of his brier
pipe in the still night air.

"I think -- I think it's -- love," she said under her breath. ... "But
he couldn't ever think of me----" always listening to his spurred tread
below.

After a while she placed both bandaged feet on the rug. It hurt her,
but she stood up, walked to the open window. She wanted to look at him
-- just a moment----

By chance he looked up at that instant, and saw her pale face, like a
flower in the starlight.

"Why, Eve," he said, "you ought no be on your feet."

"Once," she said, "you weren't so particular about my bruises."

Her breathless little voice coming down through the starlight thrilled
him.

"Do you remember what I did?" he asked.

"Yes. You bruised my hands and made my mouth bleed."

"I did penance -- for your hands."

"Yes, you kissed _them!_"

What possessed her -- what irresponsible exhilaration was inciting her
to a daring utterly foreign to her nature? She heard herself laugh,
knew that she was young, pretty, capable of provocation. And in a
sudden, breathless sort of way an overwhelming desire seized her to
please, to charm, to be noticed by such a man -- whatever, on
afterthought, he might think of the step-child of Mike Clinch.

Stormont had come directly under her window and stood looking up.

"I dared not offer further penance," he said.

The emotion in his voice stirred her -- but she was still laughing down
at him.

She said: "You _did_ offer further penance -- you offered your
handkerchief. So -- as that was _all_ you offered as reparation for --
my lips----"

"Eve! I could have