“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you? He’s just the mate for you. He’s a man of high character and education.” She made no answer to this, and he went on: “Dear girl, I’m not worth your care—truly I’m not. I resented your engagement to Belden, for he was a brute; but Landon is different. He thinks the world of you. He’ll go high in the service. I’ve never done anything in the world—I never shall. It will be better for you if I go—to-morrow.”
She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek, then, putting her arm about his neck, drew him to her bosom and kissed him passionately. “You break my heart when you talk like that,” she protested, with tears. “You mustn’t say such gloomy things—I won’t let you give up. You shall come right home with me, and I will nurse you till you are well. It was all my fault. If we had only stayed in camp at the lake daddy would have joined us that night, and if I had not loitered on the mountain yesterday Cliff would not have overtaken us. It’s all my fault.”
“I will not have it go that way,” he said. “I’ve brought you only care and unhappiness thus far. I’m an alien—my ways are not your ways.”
“I can change,” she answered. “I hate my ways, and I like yours.”
As they argued she felt no shame, and he voiced no resentment. She knew his mood. She understood his doubt, his depression. She pleaded as a man might have done, ready to prove her love, eager to restore his self-respect, while he remained both bitter and sadly contemptuous.
A cow-hand riding up the trail greeted Berrie respectfully, but a cynical smile broke out on his lips as he passed on. Another witness—another gossip.
She did not care. She had no further concern of the valley’s comment. Her life’s happiness hung on the drooping eyelashes of this wounded boy, and to win him back to cheerful acceptance of life was her only concern.
“I’ve never had any motives,” he confessed. “I’ve always done what pleased me at the moment—or because it was easier to do as others were doing. I went to college that way. Truth is, I never had any surplus vitality, and my father never demanded anything of me. I haven’t any motives now. A few days ago I was interested in forestry. At this time it all seems futile. What’s the use of my trying to live?”
Part of all this despairing cry arose from weariness, and part from a luxurious desire to be comforted, for it was sweet to feel her sympathy. He even took a morbid pleasure in the distress of her eyes and lips while her rich voice murmured in soothing protest.