e are your flowers and--I love you,
Kitty, if I am a brute." He took one hand and held it, stroking the
little fingers which he had so often longed to caress. But with a
sudden wilfulness she turned her face away.

"Don't you love me, Kitty?" he pleaded. "Couldn't you, if I should try
to be good and kind? I--I don't understand women--I know I have hurt
you--but I loved you all the time. Can't you forgive me, Kitty?"

But Kitty only shook her head. "The man I love must be my master," she
said, in a far-away voice, not looking at him. "He must value me above
all the world."

"But, Kitty," protested Hardy, "I do--"

"No," said Kitty, "you do _not_ love me."

There was a lash to the words that cut him--a scorn half-spoken,
half-expressed by the slant of her eye. As he hesitated he felt the
hot blood burn at his brow.

"Rufus," she cried, turning upon him quickly, "_do_ you love me? Then
take me in your arms and kiss me!" She spoke the words fiercely,
almost as a command, and Hardy started back as if he had been shot.

"Take me in your arms and kiss me!" she repeated evenly, a flash of
scorn in her eyes. But the man who had said he loved her faltered and
looked away.

"Kitty," he said gently, "you know I love you. But--"

"But what?" she demanded sharply.

"I--I have never--"

"Well," said Kitty briefly, "it's all over--you don't have to! I just
wanted to show you--" She paused, and her lip curled as she gazed at
him from a distance. "Look at my horse," she exclaimed suddenly,
pointing to where Pinto was pawing and jerking at his bridle rein.
When Hardy leapt up to free his foot she frowned again, for that is
not the way of lovers.

He came back slowly, leading the horse, his face very pale, his eyes
set.

"You were right," he said. "Shall we go?"

There was no apology in his voice, no appeal. It had grown suddenly
firm and resonant, and he fixed her with his great honest eyes
steadfastly. Something in the man seemed to rise up suddenly and
rebuke her--nay, to declare her unworthy of him. The thought of those
two years--two years without a word--came upon Kitty and left her
sober, filled with misgivings for the future. She cast about for some
excuse, some reason for delay, and still those masterful eyes were
fixed upon her--sad, wistful, yet steadfast; and like a child she
obeyed them.

It was a long ride to camp, long for both of them. When he had turned
her horse into the corral Hardy wheeled and rode