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 have always lived among the bees and bloomings, with the South country folk."

"Why, do you find it annoying to have me near?"

"No, but very annoying to have you near others I know. I cannot quite understand some men—for instance, Willard Frost."

"I think he is a very warm friend of yours."

"Probably so, probably so. But, Cherokee, tell me, in truth, do you love him?"

"I do not," she answered, promptly, and there was nothing in her eyes but truth.

"My God," Robert cried within him, "you have been merciful. Cherokee, listen to me—I know you already understand what I am about to say: You have known from the first that you are the greatest of what there is in my life. There is no joy through all the day but that it brings with it a desire to share it with you. I often awake with your half-spoken name on my lips, as though, when I slipped through the portals of unconsciousness into the world of reality, I came only to find you, as a frightened child awakes and calls feebly for its mother. I look to your love for the sweetness of home. I need you; can you say 'We need each other?'"

The adoration he expressed for her filled her with innocent wonder and gratitude. His overpowering