dictatorial; and Clayton felt his right to say what he had, in spite of
a natural impulse to resent such interference. Besides, there sprang
up in his heart a sudden great admiration for this rough, uncouth
fellow who was capable of such unselfishness; who, true to the
trust of her father and his God, was putting aside the strongest
passion of his life for what he believed was the happiness of the
woman who had inspired it. He saw, too, that the sacrifice was
made with perfect unconsciousness that it was unusual or
admirable. He rose to his feet, and the two men faced each other.

"If you had told me this long ago," said Clayton, "I should have
gone away, but you seemed distrustful and suspicious. I did not
expect the present state of affairs to come about, but since it has, I
tell you frankly that I have never thought of doing anything else
than what you have asked."

And he told the truth, for he had already asked himself that
question. Why should he not marry her? He must in all
probability stay in the mountains for years, and after that time he
would not be ashamed to take her home, so strong was his belief in
her quickness and adaptibility.

Raines seemed scarcely to believe what he heard. He had not
expected such ready acquiescence. He had almost begun to fear
from Clayton's silence that he was going to refuse, and then-God
knows what he would have done.

Instantly he stretched out his hand.

"I hev done ye great wrong, 'n' I ax yer par-din," he said, huskily.