her long ago--during the first days of their acquaintance, in fact--and
she was deliberately refusing the happiness that was offered
her--because she could not confess her father's crimes to this man, and
because she would not marry him unless he knew.

And not even then, perhaps. For she knew something of Lawler's high
ideals, the rugged honesty of him, his straightforwardness and his
hatred for the thieves who stole cattle--thieves like her father. She
couldn't marry him, feeling that each time he looked at her she must
feel that he would be thinking of the misdeeds of her parent. That would
be unbearable.

He took a step, and stood beside her, looking down at her gravely. He
took one of her hands, she permitting it, lifting her eyes to his as he
drew the hand toward him. The hand lay inertly in his left; he covered
it with his right and held it thus in a warm, firm grip. Then he met her
eyes, his own swimming with a gentleness that made her draw a slow, deep
breath of wonder.

This minute had been anticipated by both of them; for many months, when
they had stood close together, they had felt the imminence of surrender
to the longing that dwelt in both of them.

But the girl resisted, as she had resisted many times. Her breath came
rapidly, and the captive hand trembled as she tried to withdraw it.

"No; not now, Kane!" she protested; "not now--please!"

Lawler laughed lowly, and held the hand for an instant longer, while he
compelled the girl's eyes to meet his.