"You did it--didn't you?" she demanded.

"That's what they say." His gaze met her defiantly.

"And it is true, isn't it?"

"Oh, anything is true of a man that herds sheep," he returned,
bitterly.

"If that is true it would not be possible for you to understand
how much I despise you."

"Thank you," he retorted, ironically.

"I don't understand at all. I don't see how you can be the man
they say you are. Before I met you it was easy to understand. But
somehow--I don't know--you don't LOOK like a villain." She found
herself strangely voicing the deep hope of her heart. It was
surely impossible to look at him and believe him guilty of the
things of which, he was accused. And yet he offered no denial,
suggested no defense.

Her troubled eyes went over his thin, sunbaked face with its
touch, of bitterness, and she did not find it possible to dismiss
the subject without giving him a chance to set himself right.

"You can't be as bad as they say. You are not, are you?" she
asked, naively.