"Why not?"
"Well, then, Miss Lou, look in my eyes once more and remember what you see there. I won't say a word."
She raised hers shyly to his, blushed deeply and turned away, shaking her head. The power to divine what she saw was born with her.
"Yes, I understand you," he said very gently, "but you can't help it, any more than the sun's shining. Some day your heart may be cold and sad, and the memory of what you have just seen may warm and cheer it Miss Lou, you brave, noble little child-woman, didn't you see that my love was your servant—that it merely gives you power over me? Even as my wife you would be as free as I would be. Now good-by. We part here and not before others. Chunk is yonder with my horse. Be just as happy as you can whether we ever meet again or not." "Then—then—if you don't come again?" she faltered.
"I shall be dead, but don't believe this too hastily."
"You've been kind," she burst out passionately, "you've treated me with respect, as if I had a right to myself. You have saved me from what I dreaded far worse than death. You shall not go away, perhaps to die, without—without—without—oh, think of me only as a grateful child whose life you've kept from being spoiled."
"I shall not go away without—what?" he asked eagerly.
"Oh, I don't know. What shall I say? My heart aches as if it would break at the thought of anything happening to you." She dropped on the grass and, burying her face in her hands, sobbed aloud.
He knelt beside her and sought to take one of her hands.
Suddenly she hid her face against his breast for a moment and faltered,
"Love me as a child NOW and leave me."