“Tell me,” he commanded.

“Do I need to tell you?”

“Yes, yes!  I must have a seal of memory for the dark future,” and his tongue poured forth such utterances as he had not dreamed men could use but in prayer.  “I must know from your own lips.”

He felt the tremor, felt the two hands rise to frame his face, felt the catch and take of breath, heard the broken notes of gold.

“Then, take it,” she said.

He bent over her lips in an exquisite torture that could neither give nor take enough till she struggled to free herself, when he crushed her the closer, and kissed the closed eyes and the forehead and the hair and the pulsing throat.  Then he opened his arms.

She sank on the morris chair and hid her face in her hands.  They neither of them spoke nor heard very much but the pounding of their own hearts.  Wayland gazed out in the dark at the shiny flood-tides of the river.  She had not meant—­she had meant always to be free; she had not meant to mingle her life currents in the destiny of others.

The door opened suddenly.  It was old Calamity, red-shawled and stooping.

“Missa Vellam say not for vait no longer, Mademoiselle!  She aw’ right.  She say t’ank you now for to go home!”

Eleanor rose with a shuddering sigh

“Come then, Calamity,” she said.

Wayland walked with her to the ranch house, the old half-breed woman pattering behind.  The gray dawn-light lay on the river mistily.  At the gate, she turned.

“Has Mr. Matthews come back yet, Calamity?”

Calamity gave a vigorous shake of her head.

“I am going up to the Rim Rocks at once to see what’s become of him.  Go on in, Calamity; I want to speak to Miss MacDonald!  Forgive me,” he pleaded.  “I had no right.  I have no right to anything till I have cleaned up this damnable hell-work.  I must not leave duty till I have fought this thing out; and I must not drag you in; but I wanted—­” he paused; “I couldn’t help it.”

She trembled, but she took refuge in neither the subterfuge nor the pretence of the Eastern woman.

“It was yours,” she said.

Wayland’s eyes flashed their gratitude.  “It’s so God-blessed beautiful, Eleanor; it’s so wonderfully beautiful I mustn’t spoil it with my man hands!  I couldn’t believe it true without the memory you’ve given me; but you must keep me in line!  Now that I have that memory in my heart I’ll drink it, and hike for the firing line!  My place isn’t here; you must never let me break my resolution again.”

“I never will,” interrupted Eleanor.