"Do with him?"

"Yes--Sunnysides? I wish you'd please sell him."

"Sell him? Sell Sunnysides?" His voice betrayed his astonishment.

"Yes."

"But I haven't ridden him yet."

"You don't mean--" Her voice failed.

"That I'm going to ride him? Just as soon as I get well."

For some seconds she sat dazed. It was so utterly unexpected. The thought had not once occurred to her that he would try again what had all but cost him his life. It is at some such point as this that man's and woman's natures make one of their many departures from the parallel. To Haig the taming of Sunnysides now meant everything; to Marion it seemed a useless, a worse than useless risk, a wicked waste.

What had been the worth, then, of all her labor of love, if it was to be thrown away? He would be killed the next time. And in the horror with which she foresaw that tragic end of all that she had planned and builded, her courage and confidence fell away from her, and left her weak and helpless. She uttered a thin, little cry, and slipped to the floor on her knees, clasping his emaciated hand that lay on an arm of the chair.

"No! No!" she cried frantically. "Please, Philip! Please promise me you won't do that!"

Then she broke down completely, her head drooped, and she sank down in a heap, with her face between her hands.

Haig was stunned. He had blundered again. Fool, not to have let her go away from him in silence, in calm! He looked down at that crumpled figure, at the ma.s.s of tawny hair, with the red-gold lights in it, the enticing soft whiteness of her neck where the hair curved cleanly upward, the graceful slope of the shoulders that now shook with sobs.

And something stirred in him, something deep, too deep to be reached and overpowered. It grew until it sang through all his being, a feeling such as he had never known before. She was fine and beautiful; she was a thing to be desired; and he had only to reach out, and take her for his own. Before he was aware of it, he had stretched out his hand until it almost touched her hair. Then from across the years a mocking voice rang out shrill and cold and cruel: "Now don't you go mussing up my apartment, Pipo!"

He drew back his hand with a jerk, and clutched the chair; and sat bolt upright, while every nerve rang with the alarm.

Minutes pa.s.sed. The sobs gradually subsided; the figure on the floor slowly ceased its convulsive movements; and again a deep silence enveloped the room. Out on the brown-green slope the sun's rays were slanting low, the shadow of the cottage climbed the hill.

Well, Haig thought, he had bungled the business after all. That was what came of trying to do it nicely, with delicacy. Hard words were the kindest in the end, because the quickest understood.

She had not yet lifted her head when he turned to look at her again; and that made it easier.

"I can't leave the ranch--just now," he said slowly. "If I could, I would. So I think--I think you ought to go back home--to New York, I mean--at once."

She did not answer. And it was only after another silence that she looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes were still filled with tears, and there was a curious little puckering of her chin.

"You said you wished you could repay me," she said. "Do you?"

"Yes," he answered, wondering. "But I told you--"

"But there is a way!"

"Well?"

"Promise me you will not ride Sunnysides."

He shook his head.

"No. I can't promise that."

"Why?"

"That's one of the things you couldn't possibly understand."

"But it's such a little thing!"

"If I gave you that, I should indeed have nothing left. You would have all."

It was true that she could not in the least understand. But she knew she could not move him.

"Then promise me," she pleaded, "that you'll not try it until you are quite, quite well!"

"Oh. I promise you that!" he replied, with a grim smile.

"Thank you--Philip!"

Presently she arose, and looked down at him with a long, lingering gaze that seemed to be searching for something in his features.

"You'll take just what Jim gives you?" she asked anxiously.

"Of course."

"And not try to--boss him about the medicines and the food?"

"I promise to obey orders."

"And you'll be very careful?"

"Yes."

She moved slowly toward the door. But halfway there she stopped, and turned to look at him again. How could she leave him now? She couldn't! She couldn't! He was gazing away from her, out through the window. Wasn't he going to say a word to her--of farewell? She came back unsteadily, and stood behind his chair, her hands stretched out above his head. Then suddenly, impulsively, not touching him with her hands, she leaned down, and kissed his forehead.

"Good-by!" she said, her voice breaking.

"Good-by!" he answered gently, but without turning his head.

He heard the door opened and closed, very softly. After that he sat a long time in silence. Well, she was gone! It had been a trying afternoon, and he was glad to have it ended. And yet the room seemed to be extraordinarily empty, as it had never been before his illness.

The stillness rather oppressed him. d.a.m.n it all, sickness did strange things to a man! Took a lot out of him! He straightened himself in his chair.

Presently Jim entered.

"Well, Jim!" said Haig. "Here we are again, eh? I'm hungry."

"You eat, she come back," Jim answered shrewdly.

Haig looked at him sharply, but the Chinaman's face was like a paper mask.

"Shut up!" he cried savagely.