n understand even, how much I love you. I am
almost ashamed to put it into words--I am no longer a boy. I had no idea
I could love in that way--an unreasoning, headlong feeling. There's no
extravagant thing, Margaret--such as I have always laughed at--that I
would not do at this moment; and to feel your cheek against mine--I
would die to-morrow."

He had not moved towards her, but she shrank back even from his present
distance; white-faced, with frightened eyes, she turned; she looked as
if she were going to rush away.

"Don't go,--I will not say another word; I only wished you to know how
it was with me, it is better that you should know."

He wished to help her, but she would not allow it, she pushed the close
bushes aside with trembling hands, and made her way down alone. They
reached the barren; the phaeton was approaching.

"I cannot bear to see you so frightened," he said.

"--I believe you are sorry for me," he went on--his voice was gentle
now. "And that is why you are afraid to speak--lest you should show it."

She gave him one quick glance; her eyes were full of tears.

"That is it, you are sorry. I thank you for that; and I shall think from
it that you have forgiven me those years when I made your life so much
harder even than it was, than it need have been."

The phaeton was drawing near.

"I am going to trust you, Margaret, I believe that I can. You will not
speak, you think I ought not to have spoken. But if I go away at once,
and do not return, perhaps you will be influenced by what I have said,
and by what is really the best course for you;--perhaps you will not go
back to Lanse. At any rate I shall be showing you that _I_ am in
earnest,--that I can, and will keep my promise."

The phaeton drew up before them.

"You must not come with me," she murmured.

"You are to drive, Telano," said Winthrop, as he helped her take her
place. He stood there until the light carriage had disappeared.

Then he walked northward to Gracias.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"I said I would not write. And I will not, after I once know that your
refusal has been sent. It does not seem to me that I am asking much, it
cannot long be kept a secret in any case, and, in my opinion, should not
be. Let Aunt Katrina write me what has happened; she won't do _you_ any
too much justice--you can be sure of that! I left Gracias that same day,
as I said I would. I have come back here and gone to work again; a man
can always do t