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 at a bush, and jerked her to her feet, and swinging her at arm's length he brought her around toward him as they slipped, held her until the bush broke, caught another, and stopped her breathless and frightened on the edge of a sudden steepness, with his arm about her. She clung to him, gasping and choking with excitement.

"You might have hurt yourself."

"Oh dear! Let me—sit down. I"

He let her down, kneeling beside her. She put her hat up from her forehead and straightened it, panting. "I"

"Are you all right?"

She leaned back against his support. "I—I wanted to make you run," she laughed. "You were so"

"Was I?" He took her hand and held it against his breast in a passionate apology for his stiffness. "You know I'm"

"What have you done!" she cried. There was blood on his fingers where the bush had torn them. "You've cut yourself!"

"It's nothing. . . . I wish it were—anything—for you."

"Don!"

He looked away quickly to hide the loosening which he felt in his lips, the moisture in his eyes. She took out her handkerchief, and wiped his fingers silently. "I'm not worth it," she said in a low voice of shame. "I'm—I let Conroy—I"

"Don't!" he begged. "You are. You're everything—you're all I have."

He raised her hand, smeared with the blood of his,