said; "open the door, please."

Instead of answering, he seized the hand holding the paper, and with a
swift pull tried to draw her toward him. But her muscles had been tensed
with the second fear that had taken possession of her, and she
resisted--almost broke away from him. His fingers slipped from her wrist,
the nails scratching the flesh deeply, and she sprang toward the door.
But he was upon her instantly, his arms around her, pinning her own to
her sides, and then he squeezed her to him, so tightly that the breath
almost left her body, and kissed her three or four times full on the
lips. Then, still holding her, and looking in her eyes with an expression
that filled her with horror, he said huskily:

"Lord, but you're a hummer!"

Then, as though that were the limit of his intentions, he released her,
laughed mirthlessly and threw the door open.

She had spoken no word during the attack. She made no sound now, as she
went toward the house, her face ashen, her breath coming in great gasps.
But a few minutes later she was in her room in the ranchhouse, on her
bed, her face in the pillow, sobbing out the story of the attack to Aunt
Martha, whose wrinkled face grew gray with emotion as she listened.

Masten came in an hour later. Ruth was in a chair in the sitting-room,
looking very white. Aunt Martha was standing beside her.

"Why, what has happened?" Masten took a few steps and stood in front of
her, looking down at her.

"Aunty will tell you." Ruth hid her face in her hands and cried softly.

Aunt Martha led the way into the kitchen, Masten following. Before he
reached the door he looked back at Ruth, and a slight smile, almost a
sneer, crossed his face. But when he turned to Aunt Martha, in the
kitchen, his eyes were alight with well simulated curiosity.

"Well?" he said, questioningly.

"It is most outrageous," began Aunt Martha, her voice trembling. "That
man, Pickett, came upon Ruth in the stable and abused her shamefully. He
actually kissed her--three or four times--and--Why, Mr. Masten, the
prints of his fingers are on her wrists!"

Ruth, in the sitting-room, waited, almost in dread, for the explosion
that she knew would follow Aunt Martha's words.

None came, and Ruth sank back in her chair, not knowing whether she was
relieved or disappointed. There was a long silence, during which Masten
cleared his throat three times. And then came Aunt Martha's voice, filled
with mingled wonder and impatience