xious anticipation
which had armed her against an untested foe, now left but a sympathy
straining to take possession; because her instinct said there was to be
no resisting force, and the crushed attitude of the man before her
plainly told that she was still the unlowered, the unapproachable being
in his eyes. With her pride unhurt, her belligerency was unessential.
For a moment more she continued to let him suffer. She might have
relieved it now--she even wanted to--but the old savage spirit was still
unappeased, and a devil of the feud days made her ask:

"Where are you going, and what are you intending to make of your life?"

She might have expected some outburst as a result of this, for she
shrank slightly back; but he did not move. He seemed too crushed, and
pressed his hands more violently against his face, murmuring from the
depths of inordinate suffering:

"Oh, Gawd! That you an' I should be enemies!--that we were born to be
enemies!"

"Yes, I know," she faltered, looking away; for the sight of his grief
had conquered. "It's hard to believe--wretchedly hard--that you and I
should have been born to hate and destroy each other;--and that you,
with the hand I've so patiently taught to write, killed--him!" He
groaned. "But, Dale," she stepped closer, "I've just been facing facts,
and believe that our strong wills can adjust it all;--that through our
old feud may come a truer understanding, a surer sympathy, than enters
often into this _comedie humaine_. Those are the real things which make
life worth while; not inherited hatreds because our ancestors were at
war! It may be hard to forgive, furiously hard; but certainly it is
wrong to keep such ghastly things alive! The world is such a wide marvel
of the beautiful out-of-doors to wander in!--there is so much to do and
learn and see and be!--so much to read and think about and live for!--so
much of the glories of life--that surely you and I can be given the boon
of forgetfulness and the bounty of friendship! Go back to the house,
pick up the book I threw away, and look at the last line you read!--then
rub your eyes, and pretend you've just awakened from an ugly dream!"

He was slowly drawing his hands down from his face, and looking as
though this itself might be a dream. In bewilderment he asked:

"Is this true?"

"Ah, yes, yes," she hurriedly answered. "It is all true. The nobility
which made old Ben French and Leister Mann be friends, has reached into
the v