his heart he searched for loyal words.

"I love Hugh--if that's what you mean," he said.

"I love you?" she repeated softly, perversely. "Did you say 'Hugh'
or 'you,' Pete?"

His face tightened; faint lines came about his mouth. "I said 'Hugh!'"

"Ah--you love only him--nobody else in all the world?"

Her young and wistful voice came to him like a fragrance. He struggled
as though his spirit were fighting in deep water. He tried to remember
Hugh. He rose up slowly to meet this passionate moment, and now he
made a short step toward the waiting girl. She _was_ waiting,
breathing fast. Pete's arms quivered at his sides.

A hand gripped the quivering muscles and turned him about. Hugh had
come up behind, without sound, on moccasined feet. His face was gray;
his eyes were drawn into slits; his distorted mouth was trying to
become a straight, hard line. The effort gave a twitch to the pale,
lower lip.

Sylvie stood up, singing as though in absent-minded idleness, and
vanished into the house. It would have been difficult to tell whether
or not she had heard Hugh's arrival.

"What's the matter?" Pete stammered like a boy wakened from a dream
to behold a lifted cane. "Let go my arm, Hugh. Your fingers cut."