t she take him
anyway, take him in spite of his unworthiness, declaring it as his
belief she would find him in time worthy--that he would try to make
himself worthy--_would_ make himself worthy--would overcome those
faults which evidently--though she had not as yet told him what they
were--made him impossible in her eyes. Then suddenly he asked her to
tell him precisely what these faults were. He knew that he had many and
could only blame himself for them. But which of them did she find
chiefly objectionable? He was pitiable in his pleading.

But Helen shook her head. "I--I can't tell you, Stephen," she declared,
her voice breaking. "It--it is too much to ask of--of any girl."

He rose, turning toward the distant mountains, bright and smiling in
their noonday splendor. As his eyes dwelt upon them in brooding silence,
Helen gained her feet. And, aware of her great part in this
wretchedness, she took his hand very gently in her own. Subtly conscious
of the touch, realizing the tumult in his soul, she found herself
suddenly alive to a feeling within her deeper than mere pity and
sympathy. It was the anguish preceding tears. Quickly withdrawing her
hand, she turned and fled to the house. Inside, she slowly approached a
window. He was leading Pat into the corral; and, watching him unsaddle
and unbridle her horse, her treasure, she awoke to something else within
her, a strange swelling of her heart, different from anything she had
ever known. It was like ownership; it was a something as of maternal
pride, a something new to her which she could not fathom. She turned
away. When she looked out again, her eyes dry and burning, he was riding
slowly along the trail toward town.

It was the beginning of the end. Winter passed, with horses abandoned
for the delights, swift-following, of dinner and dance and house party.
These affairs made deep inroads upon Helen's time, and so Pat was left
pretty much to his own reflections.

Yet he managed to fill the days to his satisfaction. Standing in the
stable, he loved to watch the snow-capped mountains, and the tiny white
clouds scudding around them, and the mellow radiance of golden sunlight
streaming over them. Also, gazing out of the little square window, he
spent long periods in viewing the hard brown of the nearer mesaland--the
dips and dunes and thread-like arroyos, with an occasional horseman
crawling between. Or else, when he found himself yearning for his
mistress, he would tur