own sake, Sylvia."

"I thought you said you wouldn't call me Sylvia."

"I've said a good many foolish things in the course of my life, and
changed my mind about them afterwards."

"Or feel sorry if I came to grief--"

"And a good many untrue and wicked ones for which I have repented
afterwards."

"Well, I did come to grief--or pretty nearly. I met three Polish workmen
on the road. I think they were--intoxicated. Anyway, they tried to stop
me. I was lucky in managing to turn in here--so quickly they didn't
realize what I was going to do. If I hadn't been near the entrance to
this wood-road--Austin, what makes you grip my hand so? You hurt."

"Promise me you'll never ride alone again," he said, his voice shaking.

"I certainly never shall."

"And could you possibly promise me, too, that you'll forgive the
absolutely unforgivable way I've acted all summer, and give me a chance
to show that I can do better--_Sylvia_?"

"Oh, yes, _yes_! Please don't feel badly about that. I--I--never
misunderstood at all. I know you've had an awfully hard row to hoe, and
that's made you bitter, and--any man hates to have a woman
help--financially. Besides"--she hesitated, and went on with a humility