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There was a rustic seat on the river-bank; she sat down in one corner.

His face was in shadow; he had dropped his rod and landing-net abruptly. And now he took an uncertain step towards her and sat down at her side.

“I want you to make me love you,” she said, frankly; “I hope you will; I shall do all I can to help you. But–unless I do–will you remember that?–I do not love you.” As he was silent, she went on: “Take me as a comrade; I will go where you wish. I am really a good comrade; I can do what men do. You shall see! It will be pleasant, I think.”

After a little while he spoke in a low voice which was not perfectly steady: “Miss Castle, I am going to tell you something which you must know. I do not believe that Mr. Garcide has authorized me to offer myself to you.”

“He told me that he desired it,” she said. “That is why he brought us together. And he also said,” she added, hastily, “that you were somewhat bashful. So I thought it best to make it easy for us both. I hope I have.”

Crawford sat motionless for a long while. At last he passed his hands over his eyes, leaning forward and looking into her face.

“I’ve simply got to be honest with you,” he said; “I know there is a mistake.”

“No, there is no mistake,” she said, bending her head and looking him in the eyes–“unless you have made the mistake–unless,” she said, quickly–“you do not want me.”

“Want you!” he stammered, catching fire of a sudden–“want you, you beautiful child! I love you if ever man loved on earth! Want you?” His hand fell heavily on hers, and closed. For an instant their palms lay close together; her heart almost stopped; then a swift flame flew to her face and she struggled to withdraw her fingers twisted in his.

“You must not do that,” she said, breathlessly. “I do not love you–I warned you!”

He said: “You must love me! Can’t you understand? You made me love you–you made me! Listen to me–it is all a mistake–but it is too late now. I did not dare even think of you–I have simply got to tell you the truth–I did not dare think of you–I must say it–and I can’t understand how I could ever have seen you and not loved you. But when you spoke–when I touched you–“

“Please, please,” she said, faintly, “let me go! It is not a mistake; I–I am glad that you love me; I will try to love you. I want to–I believe I can–“

“You must!”

“Yes, … I will…. Please let me go!”

Breathless and crimson, she fell back into her corner, staring at him. He dropped his arm on the back of the rustic seat.

Presently he laughed uncertainly, and struck his forehead with his open hand.

“It’s a mistake,” he said; “and if it is a mistake, Heaven help the other man!”

She watched him with curious dismay. Never could she have believed that the touch of a man’s hand could thrill her; never had she imagined that the words of a man could set her heart leaping to meet his stammered vows. A new shame set her very limbs quaking as she strove to rise. The distress in her eyes, the new fear, the pitiful shyness, called to him for mercy.

For a miracle he understood the mute appeal, and he took her hand in his quietly and bade her good-night, saying he would stay and smoke awhile.

“Good-night,” she said; “I am really tired. I would rather you stayed here. Do you mind?”

“No,” he said.

“Then I shall go back alone.”

He watched her across the lawn. When she had gone half-way, she looked back and saw him standing there in the moonlight.

And that night, as her little silver hand-glass reflected her brilliant cheeks, she veiled her face in her bright hair and knelt down by her bedside.