"They figure me out a white man," he answered carelessly.

"Ah! That's where I made my mistake." She looked at him bravely,
though the color began to beat into her cheeks beneath the dusky tan.
"Yet I knew it all the time-- in my heart. At least, after I had given
myself time to think it over. I knew you couldn't be that. If I had
given you time to explain-- but I always think too late."

His eyes, usually so clear and steely, softened at her words. "I'm
satisfied if you knew-- in your heart."

"I meant----" she began, with a flush.

"Now, don't spoil it, please," he begged.

Under his steady, half-smiling gaze, her eyes fell. Two weeks ago she
had been a splendid young creature, as untaught of life as one of the
wild forest animals and as unconsciously eager for it. But there had
come a change over her, a birth of womanhood from that night when she
had stood between Stephen Fraser and death. No doubt she would often
regret it, but she had begun to live more deeply. She could never go
back to the care-free days when she could look all men in the face
with candid, girlish eyes. The time had come to her, as it must to all
sensitive of life, when she must drink of it, whether she would or no.

"Because I'd rather you would know it in your heart than in your
mind," he said.

Something sweet and terrifying, with the tingle and warmth of rare
wine in it, began to glow in her veins. Eyes shy, eager, frightened,