you trust me? Dear child, I love
you so!"

Stunned by his words, Fledra stared at him. His voice had vibrated with
something she had never heard before. His eyes were brilliant and
pleading.

"Fledra, can't you--can't you love me?"

As if by strong cords, her tongue was tied.

"Listen to me!" pursued Horace. "I know now I loved you that first night
I saw you--that night when you came into the room with Ann's--"

He stopped at the name of his sister--he had forgotten for the moment
Flea's confession of the falsehood to her. Then the seeming injustice
done Ann turned his mind to the probing he had begun at first for the
cause of Flea's grief. Intermingled with this was a whirl of thought as
to the things that the girl had accomplished. Her entire submission to
Ann and himself, her devotion to Floyd, her desire to master the
difficult problems of her new life, all persuaded him that for his
happiness he must know the cause of her agitation. Spontaneously he
pressed his open hands to her cheeks.

"Fledra, Fledra! Can I believe you?"

The girl lowered her head and nodded emphatically.

"Do you--do you love anyone else--I mean any man?"

His rapidly indrawn breath came forth with almost an ejaculation. Flea's
eyes sought his for part of a minute. Then slowly she shook her head, a
shadow of a smile broadening her lips. With effort she lifted her arms
and whispered:

"I don't love anyone else--that is, no man! Be ye sure that ye love
me?"

Like an impetuous boy he gathered her up, caressing her hair, her eyes,
her lips. With sudden passion he murmured:

"Fledra! Fledra dear!"

"I do love ye!" she whispered. "Oh, I do love ye every bit of the day,
and every bit of the night, jest like I did when you came to the
settlement and I saw ye on the shore!"

Hitherto she had not told him that she had seen him in Ithaca, and he
did not understand her allusion to a former meeting. To his astonished
look, she replied by a question.

"Don't ye remember one day you came to the settlement and asked the way
to Glenwood?"

Horace conjured up a vision of a child of whom he had asked his road,
and remembered, in a flashing glance at the girl in his arms, that he
had inwardly commented upon the sad young face. He had noted, too, the
unusual shade in her eyes, and now he wondered vaguely that he had not
loved her then.

"I remember--of course I remember! Oh, I want you to say again that you
love me, little dearest, that you