ce. "I half expected to----" And she broke off purposely.

The look in Jim's eyes hardened to one of acute apprehension.

"You were--expecting him?"

"Well, not exactly, Jim." She withdrew her gaze from the distant
hills, and, gently smiling, turned her eyes upon him. They were full
of sympathy and profound kindness. "You see, he came here last night.
And, well, I thought he said something about----"

Jim started. A shiver passed through his body. He suddenly felt cold
in that blazing sun. His eyes painfully sought the girl's face. His
look was an appeal, an appeal for a denial of what in his heart he
feared. For some seconds he did not speak. There was no sound between
them, but of his breathing, which had become suddenly heavy.

"Will--Will was here last night?" he said at last.

His voice was husky and unusual. But he dropped his eyes before the
innocent look of inquiry in the girl's.

"Why, yes; he spent the evening with me."

In lowering his eyes Jim found them staring at the girl's hands,
resting in her lap. On one of them he noticed, for the first time, a
gold band. It was the inside of a ring. It was on the third finger of
the left hand. He had never seen Eve wearing rings before. Suddenly he
reached out and caught her hands in his. He turned them over with
almost brutal roughness. Eve tried to withdraw them, but he held them
fast.

"That ring!" he exclaimed, hoarsely. It was in full view now. "It
is Will's. It was my father's signet ring. I gave it to him.
Where?--How----? But no, you needn't tell me, I guess." He almost
flung her hands from him. And a wave of sickness swept over him as
he thought.

Then in a moment all the passion of his heart rose uppermost in him,
and its scorching tide swept through his body, maddening him, driving
him. A torrent of words surged to his lips, words of bitterness, cruel
words that would hurt the girl, hurt himself, words of hateful
intensity, words that might ease his tortured soul at the expense of
those who had always occupied foremost place in his heart.

But they were not uttered. He choked them back with a gasp, and seized
himself in an iron grip of will. And, for some moments, he held on as
a drowning man may cling to the saving hand. He must not hurt the
girl, he must not wound her love by betraying his cousin. If Will had
not played the game, at any rate he would. Suddenly, he spoke again,
and no one would have suspected the storm raging under his calm
e