“Oh, since always. It was ever so long before I came to think of you—to, well, to think about—I mean to remember—oh, you know what I mean. But when I did, oh, THEN!”
“Then what?”
“I don't know—I haven't thought—that way long enough to know.”
“But you said you thought it must have been me always.”
“I know; but that was different—oh, I'm all mixed up. I'm so nervous and trembly now. Oh,” she cried suddenly, her face overcast with a look of earnestness and great seriousness, both her hands catching at his wrist, “Oh, you WILL be good to me, now, won't you? I'm only a little, little child in so many ways, and I've given myself to you, all in a minute, and I can't go back of it now, and it's for always. I don't know how it happened or why. Sometimes I think I didn't wish it, but now it's done, and I am glad and happy. But NOW if you weren't good to me—oh, think of how it would be with me. You are strong, and big, and rich, and I am only a servant of yours, a little nobody, but I've given all I had to you—myself—and you must be so good to me now. Always remember that. Be good to me and be gentle and kind to me in LITTLE things,—in everything, or you will break my heart.”
Annixter took her in his arms. He was speechless. No words that he had at his command seemed adequate. All he could say was:
“That's all right, little girl. Don't you be frightened. I'll take care of you. That's all right, that's all right.”
For a long time they sat there under the shade of the great trestle, their arms about each other, speaking only at intervals. An hour passed. The buckskin, finding no feed to her taste, took the trail stablewards, the bridle dragging. Annixter let her go. Rather than to take his arm from around Hilma's waist he would have lost his whole stable. At last, however, he bestirred himself and began to talk. He thought it time to formulate some plan of action.
“Well, now, Hilma, what are we going to do?”
“Do?” she repeated. “Why, must we do anything? Oh, isn't this enough?”