"You are more than thoughtful, Miss Kenyon."
"Yer seem ter have fergot what we agreed ter call each other, Frank."
She spoke the words in a tone of reproach.
"Kate!"
Barney turned away, winking uselessly at nothing at all, and kept his back toward them for some moments.
But Frank Merriwell had no thought of making love to this strange girl of the mountains. She had promised to be his friend; she had proved herself his friend, and as no more than a friend did he propose to accept her.
That he had awakened something stronger than a friendly feeling in Kate Kenyon's breast seemed evident, and the girl was so artless that she could not conceal her true feelings toward him.
They stood there, talking in a low tone, while the morning light stole in at one broken window and grew stronger and stronger within that room.
Frank was studying Kate's speech and voice. As he did so a new thought came to him—a thought that was at first a mere suspicion, which he scarcely noted at all. This suspicion grew, and he found himself asking:
"Kate, are you sure your brother is still wearing a convict's suit?"