love me very much!" His lips roved in
sweet freedom over her face as he continued, "You're so young, so very
young, to have a sweetheart; but if you could only begin to love me--in
a few years we could be married, couldn't we?"

Flea's body grew tense with tenderness. She had never heard such
beautiful words; they meant that her Prince loved her as Ann loved
Everett, as good men loved their wives and good wives loved their
husbands. Instead of answering, she lifted a pale face intensified by
womanly passion.

"Will ye kiss me?" she breathed. "Kiss me again on my hair, and on my
eyes, and on my lips, because--because I love ye so!"

His strong avowal had opened a deep spring in her heart which overflowed
in tears. The taut arms pressed him tightly. The words were sobbed out
from a tightened young throat. The very passion in her, that abandonment
which comes from the untutored, stirred all that was primeval in him,
all the desperate longing in a soul newly born. His mouth covered hers
again and again; it sought her closed white lids, her rounded throat,
and again lingered upon her lips. After a few moments he sat down and
drew her into his arms.

"Little love, my heart has never beaten for another woman--only for you,
always for you! Fledra, open your eyes quick!"

The brown-flecked eyes flashed into his. Horace bent his head low and
searched them silently for some seconds.

"I must be sure, Dear, that you love me. Are you very sure?"

"Yes, yes! That's why I felt so bad tonight, when I told ye about lying
to Sister Ann." There was entreaty in her glance, and her figure
trembled in his arms. Horace started slightly. He had again forgotten
her admission.

"But you will tell me all about it now, won't you, Fledra? Then we can
tell Ann and your brother about our love."

Flea stood up; but Horace still kept his arm about her. Her thoughts
flew to Everett. How unfaithful he had been! Could she confide in
Horace, now that she was absolutely his? No; for he would punish Everett
even the more to the detriment of Ann. The thought set her teeth hard.
Had she been Ann, and Horace been Everett, had the man she loved been
unfaithful to the point of stealing kisses from another--She took a long
breath.

But she was not Sister Ann, neither was Horace, Everett. In a twinkling
everything that Horace had been to her since the first day in Ithaca
flooded her heart with happiness. Her dreamy imagination, which had
enshrined him