Hitherto she had not told him that she had seen him in Ithaca, and he did not understand her allusion to a former meeting.  To his astonished look, she replied by a question.

“Don’t ye remember one day you came to the settlement and asked the way to Glenwood?”

Horace conjured up a vision of a child of whom he had asked his road, and remembered, in a flashing glance at the girl in his arms, that he had inwardly commented upon the sad young face.  He had noted, too, the unusual shade in her eyes, and now he wondered vaguely that he had not loved her then.

“I remember—­of course I remember!  Oh, I want you to say again that you love me, little dearest, that you love me very much!” His lips roved in sweet freedom over her face as he continued, “You’re so young, so very young, to have a sweetheart; but if you could only begin to love me—­in a few years we could be married, couldn’t we?”

Flea’s body grew tense with tenderness.  She had never heard such beautiful words; they meant that her Prince loved her as Ann loved Everett, as good men loved their wives and good wives loved their husbands.  Instead of answering, she lifted a pale face intensified by womanly passion.

“Will ye kiss me?” she breathed.  “Kiss me again on my hair, and on my eyes, and on my lips, because—­because I love ye so!”

His strong avowal had opened a deep spring in her heart which overflowed in tears.  The taut arms pressed him tightly.  The words were sobbed out from a tightened young throat.  The very passion in her, that abandonment which comes from the untutored, stirred all that was primeval in him, all the desperate longing in a soul newly born.  His mouth covered hers again and again; it sought her closed white lids, her rounded throat, and again lingered upon her lips.  After a few moments he sat down and drew her into his arms.

“Little love, my heart has never beaten for another woman—­only for you, always for you!  Fledra, open your eyes quick!”

The brown-flecked eyes flashed into his.  Horace bent his head low and searched them silently for some seconds.

“I must be sure, Dear, that you love me.  Are you very sure?”

“Yes, yes!  That’s why I felt so bad tonight, when I told ye about lying to Sister Ann.”  There was entreaty in her glance, and her figure trembled in his arms.  Horace started slightly.  He had again forgotten her admission.

“But you will tell me all about it now, won’t you, Fledra?  Then we can tell Ann and your brother about our love.”

Flea stood up; but Horace still kept his arm about her.  Her thoughts flew to Everett.  How unfaithful he had been!  Could she confide in Horace, now that she was absolutely his?  No; for he would punish Everett even the more to the detriment of Ann.  The thought set her teeth hard.  Had she been Ann, and Horace been Everett, had the man she loved been unfaithful to the point of stealing kisses from another—­She took a long breath.