“Don't cry,”—he said gently, starting to call her name. “Don't cry,” he repeated, and he waited helplessly.
“He's dead. Dave was shot—out—West,” she sobbed. “I told him I was coming back. He gave me his horse. Oh, how could you?”
“Why did you come back?” he asked, and she shrank as though he had struck her—but her sobs stopped and she rose to her feet.
“Wait,” she said, and she turned from him to wipe her eyes with her handerchief. Then she faced him.
“When dad died, I learned everything. You made him swear never to tell me and he kept his word until he was on his death-bed. YOU did everything for me. It was YOUR money. YOU gave me back the old cabin in the Cove. It was always you, you, YOU, and there was never anybody else but you.” She stopped for Hale's face was as though graven from stone.
“And you came back to tell me that?”
“Yes.”
“You could have written that.”
“Yes,” she faltered, “but I had to tell you face to face.”
“Is that all?”