wanted," said the Virginian. His voice recalled the girl with almost a start. "I've brought a food hawss I've gentled for yu', and Taylor'll leep him till I need him."
"Thank you so much! but I wish—"
"I reckon yu' can't stop me lendin' Taylor a hawss. And you cert'nly 'll get sick school-teachin' if yu' don't keep outdoors some. Good-by—till that next time."
"Yes; there's always a next time," she answered, as lightly as she could.
"There always will be. Don't yu' know that?"
She did not reply.
"I have discouraged spells," he pursued, "but I down them. For I've told yu' you were going to love me. You are goin' to learn back the thing you have taught me. I'm not askin' anything now; I don't want you to speak a word to me. But I'm never goin' to quit till 'next time' is no more, and it's 'all the time' for you and me."
With that he had ridden away, not even touching her hand. Long after he had gone she was still in her chair, her eyes lingering upon his flowers, those yellow cups of the prickly pear. At length she had risen impatiently, caught up the flowers, gone with them to the open window,—and then, after all, set them with pains in water.
But to-day Bear Creek was over. She was going home now. By the week's end she would be started. By the time the mail brought him her good-by letter she would be gone. She had acted.
To Bear Creek, the neighborly, the friendly, the not comprehending, this move had come un-
