He caught the cool little hand and pressed it against his eyes that were burning hot with boyish tears he was ashamed to shed. It was years since tears had been in those eyes. He had almost forgotten the smart of them. He had scorned the thought of them even in his babyhood, yet here, just when he longed to be a man, they came to make his shame complete.
"Listen, Dan," said Dawn earnestly. "It isn't that at all. You're good and dear enough for anybody, and I do love you, too, for you've been very good to me. I love you for yourself, too, but not in that way, Dan, for I love some one else. I loved him first and shall always love him, and—and—I belong to him. I couldn't belong to any one else, you know, after that. I'm sorry, Dan, so sorry you feel bad about it, but you see how it is. I belonged to some one else first."
"Is it him?" he blurted out fiercely.
"Oh, no, Dan! Oh, no! I'm very, very thankful it isn't that man. If it were, I should die. I couldn't love him. You wouldn't think I could!"
There was silence in the quiet woods for a moment.
"It ain't Sile Dobson?" he asked fearfully at last.
Dawn's laugh burst out softly then.
"Oh, Dan! You know better than that. You knew without asking. How could any one love him? No, Dan; the one I belong to is fine and grand and noble—everything he ought to be."
"Then, why doesn't he take care of you?" burst forth Dan indignantly. "I wouldn't let you teach school if you belonged to me, and I wouldn't let that fellow frighten you. He can't be all you say, or he'd take care of you."
Dawn's cheeks were very red.