“I love you,” she whispered. “I thought I knew it that—that night. But I'm only finding it out now.... And somehow I had to tell you here.”
“Fay, I haven't said much to you,” he said, hurriedly, huskily. “I haven't had a chance. I love you. I—I ask you—will you be my wife?”
“Of course,” she said, simply, but the white, moon-blanched face colored with a dark and leaping blush.
“We'll be married as soon as we get out of the desert,” he went on. “And we'll forget—all—all that's happened. You're so young. You'll forget.”
“I'd forgotten already, till this difference came in you. And pretty soon—when I can say something more to you—I'll forget all except Surprise Valley—and my evenings in the starlight with you.”
“Say it then—quick!”
She was leaning against him, holding his hands in her strong clasp, soulful, tender, almost passionate.
“You couldn't help it.... I'm to blame.... I remember what I said.”
“What?” he queried in amaze.
“'YOU CAN KILL HIM!'... I said that. I made you kill him.”