annot help it. He
was my own--he must be mine still."

A light laugh sounded on the rock above her.

"Are you waiting for me here?" a musical voice cried out. It was
Rachel's voice. "Your aunt said you were gone out and would be back
soon. I knew you would like me to meet you half way. It is beautiful
here, you must love the place, but"--she added so softly that the
unwilling listener did not catch her words--"it isn't so fine as our old
Rockport!"

Quickly came the reply in a voice Marjie knew too well, although the
tone was unlike any she had ever heard before.

"I hate Rockport; I did not tell you so when I left last Spring, but I
hated it then."

Swiftly across the listener's mind swept the memory of my words. "If you
ever hear me say I don't like 'Rockport' you will know I don't care for
you."

She had heard me say these words, had heard them spoken in a tone of
vehement feeling. There was no mistaking the speaker's sincerity, and
then the quick step and swing of the bushes told her I had gone. The
Neosho Valley turned black before her eyes, and she sank down on the
stone shelving of the ledge.

My ride that afternoon had been a miserable one. Rachel was coy and
sweet, yet cunningly bold. I felt indignant at my father for forcing her
company on me, and I resented the circumstance that made me a victim to
injustice. I detested the beautiful creature beside me for her
assumption of authority over my actions, and above all, I longed with an
aching, starved heart for Marjie. I knew she had only to read my letter
to understand. She might not have gone after it yet, but I could see her
that evening and all would be well.

I did not go near the old stone cabin. My father had failed to know his
son if he thought I would obey under these hard conditions. We merely
drove about beyond the draw. Then we rested briefly under the old
cottonwood before we started home.

In the twilight I hurried out to our "Rockport" to wait for Marjie. I
was a little late and so I did not know that Marjie was then under the
point of rock. My rudeness to Rachel was unpardonable, but she had
intruded one step too far into the sacred precincts of my life. I would
not endure her in the place made dear to me from childhood, by
association with Marjie. So I rashly blurted out my feelings and left
her, never dreaming who had heard me nor what meaning my words would
carry.

Down at the Whately home Richard Tillhurst sat, bland and smiling,