Ben Blair

"Yes, I'm listening."

"I repeat then, don't go. You belong here. This life is your life. Everything that is best for your happiness you will find here. You spoke the other day of your birthright--to love and to be loved--as though this could only be realized in a city. Do you think I don't care for you as much as though my home were in a town?"

Passive, motionless, Florence listened, feeling the subtle sympathy which ever existed between her and this boy-man drawing them closer together. His strong magnetism, never before so potent, gripped her almost like a physical force. His personality, original, masterful, convincing, fascinated her. For the time the tacit consent of her position never occurred to her. It seemed but natural and fitting that he should hold her hand. She had no desire to speak or move, merely to listen.

"Florence," the voice was very near now, and very low. "Florence, I love you. I can't have you go away, can't have you pass out of my life. I'll do anything for you,--live for you, die for you, fight for you, slave for you,--anything but give you up." Of a sudden his arms were about her, his lips touched her cheek. "Can't you love me in return? Speak to me, tell me--for I love you, Florence!"

The girl started, and drew away involuntarily. "Oh, don't, don't! please don't!" she pleaded. The dream faded, and she awoke to the reality of her position. The brown head bowed, dropped into her hands. Her whole body shook. "Oh, what have I done!" she sobbed. "Oh, what have I done! Oh--oh--oh--"

For a time, neither of them realized nor cared how long, they sat side by side, though separate now. Warmly and brightly as before, the sun shone down upon them. A breath of breeze, born of the heated earth, wandered gently over the land. The big thoroughbred shifted on its feet and whinnied suggestively.

Gradually the girl's hysterical weeping grew quieter. The sobs came less frequently, and at last ceased. Ben Blair slowly arose, folded his arms, and waited. Another minute passed. Florence Baker, the storm over, glanced up at her companion--at first hesitatingly, then openly and soberly. She stood up, almost at his side; but he did not turn. Awe, contrition, strange feelings and emotions flooded her anew. She reached out her hand and touched him on the arm; at first hesitatingly, then boldly, she leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Ben," she pleaded, "Ben, forgive me. I've hurt you terribly; but I didn't mean to. I am as I am; I can't help it. I can't promise to do what you ask--can't say I love you now, or promise to love you in the future." She looked up into his face. "Won't you forgive me?"