w your time was so short. I'm afraid--I've spoiled
your visit."

"That doesn't matter, Marion, if you'll go back with me."

"But I can't--just yet."

"Why not?"

"I'm not ready. I haven't half finished my visit with Claire."

She was, after all, somewhat confused, for she had not expected him to
approach the subject in just this way.

"But the summer is almost gone. It's near the end of August,"
persisted Hillyer.

"There's another month of good weather. And September, Claire says, is
the most beautiful of all."

"That may be, unless Huntington's right. He told me only yesterday
that it's going to be an early winter. There's come a chill in the air
even since I've been here."

"Nonsense!" she replied, recovering her composure. "I'll go out with
the last stage."

"And get caught in an avalanche or something!"

"I suppose Seth does want to get rid of me!" she said, with a faint
laugh.

"That's not it at all."

"Well, I'm not afraid."

"But suppose you stay too late, and get caught. You'd have to remain
here all winter. The Park, Huntington says, is as tight as a jail
after the snows come."

"Claire stays here through the winter sometimes."

He felt a fresh alarm, and showed it. It would be just like her! he
thought.

"See here, Marion!" he said, plunging at last. "I've obeyed your order
not to say anything about--the future. I meant not to say anything
until the time was up. But you must see I can't keep silent now,
after--what's happened. You must know I can't go away and leave you
without knowing what--it all means. You said you'd tell me as soon as
you'd finished nursing--him. No, wait, please! Let me say it at once.
You know I love you. I want you to marry me. I need you, Marion.
There's never been an hour, a minute that I haven't thought of you. I
can't work--I can't do anything without you. I love you more than--"

"Stop, Robert!" she cried. "You're making it harder for both of us."

"Harder--for--both of us?" he repeated slowly.

"Yes."

There was a moment's silence. Hillyer, while he spoke, had
half-consciously stopped the automobile, which stood now, humming
softly, in the middle of the road that stretched white and empty ahead
of them and behind them. The night breeze had risen, blowing cold from
the snows, and the shadows were creeping down into the valley, as if
they came from dark caverns in the hills.

"Robert," she said sadly. "It's no use. I must tell you. I--I can't
marry y