riving one heel deep into the fir
needles; and when Grace checked me, laying both hands on her shoulders, I
held her fast as I asked, "And what did you say?"

She smiled faintly as she answered, "This is not the age of savagery,
Ralph; your fingers are bruising me. What answer could I give him after my
promise to you? I said, 'No.'"

"Then the folly is done with, and there will be an end to his
presumption," I answered hotly. But Grace sighed again as she said:

"No, this is not the ending. You are fierce and stubborn and
headstrong--and I like to have you so; Geoffrey is cool and quiet and
slow, and, I must say it, a chivalrous gentleman. I could not tell him
all; but he took my answer gracefully, saying he would respect it in the
meantime, but would never give up hope. Ralph, I almost wonder whether you
would have acted as becomingly."

Perhaps it was said to gain time; and, if so, I took the bait and answered
with bitterness:

"He has been trained and polished and accustomed to the smooth side of
life. Is it strange that he has learned a little courtesy? Again I say,
confound him! I am of the people, stained with the soil, and roughened by
a laborer's toil; but, Grace, you know I would gladly give my life to
serve you."

"You are as God and your work have made you," was the quiet answer; and,
drawing closer to me, she added, "And I would not have you otherwise.
Don't lapse into heroics, Ralph. What you did that day in the canyon will
speak better than words for you. Instead you must listen while I tell you
the whole story. As it was with you and your cousin, Geoffrey and I--we
are distantly related too--were always good friends. He was older, and, as
you say, polished, and in many ways I looked up to him, while my father
was trustee for him under a will, and when he joined the army my father
continued, I understand, to manage his property. Still--and I know now
that I must have been blind--I never looked upon Geoffrey as--as a
possible husband until twelve months ago. Since then my eyes have been
opened, and I understand many things--most of all that my father wished
it, for he has told me so, and that Geoffrey is heavily interested
financially in his ventures. I know that he has sunk large sums of money
in the mine, and they have found no ore, while I heard a chance whisper of
a mortgage on Carrington. Yet Geoffrey has never even hinted to me that he
was more than a small shareholder. My father has grown aged