you in the first place must have hired Connelly to
say that. A man who will sell liquor will lie, you know, Buck!"

Badger was violently trembling, but Winnie, in the ecstatic joy of
meeting him, did not notice it. There was a tempest in the Kansan's
soul. Winnie's sweet and trusting faith in him filled him with an
anguishing shame. Could he tell her now that he was drunk that
night--that all the things said against him by Connelly and that unknown
informant were true? Would she not turn against him if he did? Would she
not despise him? Would not her love be obliterated? Badger felt as if
the ground were reeling under his feet.

Once he was about to give away to the evil impulses that were fighting
against him. But he did not. At last, as she chattered on, so strongly
asserting her faith in his innocence, he caught her convulsively to him.

"Winnie!" he gasped, and his voice was so hoarse and unnatural that she
was startled. "My God! Winnie, don't say those things! I know that when
I confess the truth to you you will feel that I am the biggest scoundrel
that ever walked. But I must tell you. I was a coward and a fool, I
reckon, for not telling you before. But I just couldn't, Winnie! But
those things are true! I was drunk that night--I was at Connelly's--I
was----"

Her form seemed to grow rigid in his arms.

"I must tell you the truth now, if it kills me!" he continued, almost
gasping out the words. "And if you cast me off, I believe it will kill
me! But it seems to me that I'd rather die than to have you think me
innocent when I am guilty. I could never stand it in the world. I'm a
dog, I allow! I'm not fit to associate with you whatever--not in the
least! Your father is right about that. I see it now, though I didn't
before. But, Winnie, I love you, and I love you! That is all I can say.
I allow I haven't a right to say that now, but I must say it. You won't
cast me off for this? You will give me another show? Before God, I
haven't touched the stuff since that night! Not a drop! And I'll never
touch it again!"

"Buck," she whispered, at last, "I wish you had told me that at the very
first."

"And you wouldn't have spoken to me again?"

"Yes, Buck, I should have spoken to you again. I should have been very
sorry, Buck. I should have grieved over it, as I do now. But I should
have loved you just the same, Buck."

"Then you do love me? You do not intend to tell me to go and never speak
to you again?"

"Don