His arms went around her.  She never stirred, save for the tremors that shook her as a breeze shakes a reed.

“Am I frightening you still?” he whispered.  “I don’t want to do that.  I only want to make you happy, dear, and, oh, I’d try very hard if you’d let me.  Won’t you, Eve?”

There was no answer.  He held her very-lightly there with arms that ached to strain her close against his fast-beating heart.  After a moment she asked, tremulously: 

“You tore up—­the note?”

“Yes,” he answered.  He felt a sigh quiver through her.

“I’m glad,” she whispered.

Of a sudden she struggled free, pushing him away with her outstretched arms.

“You must stand there,” she said, in laughing whispers.  She crossed her hands, palms out, above her forehead to keep the moonlight from her eyes.  “Now, sir, answer me truthfully.  You didn’t—­do that, what I said?”

“No.”

“And you won’t say anything more about having your way?”

“No,” he answered, with a happy laugh.

“And you won’t ever even want it?”

“Never!”

“And you—­like me?”

“Like you!  I—­”

“Wait!  Stay just where you are, please, Mr. Herrick.”

“Mr. Herrick?”

“Well,—­I haven’t learnt any other name.”

“But you know it!”

“No,” she fibbed, with a soft laugh.  “Anyhow—­well, so far you’ve passed the examination beautifully.  Is there—­is there anything more you have to say for yourself before sentence is passed?”

“Yes,” he answered.  “I came through the gate in the hedge.”  He went forward and dropped on his knee.  “And I ask you to be my wife.”

“Who told you?” she gasped, striving to recover the hand he had seized on.

“Miss Mullett.”

“Traitress!” Then she laughed.  “That was my secret.  But I know yours.”

“Mine?  You mean—­”

“Yes, about the name of your mine.  I saw it on an envelope in the parlor the other night.  I don’t see why you didn’t want me to know.  I’m sure I think it was very sweet of Edward to name the mine after me.”  She looked down at him mischievously.  He got to his feet, still holding her hands—­he had captured both now—­and looked down at them as they lay in his.

“It wasn’t Ed who—­I mean it wasn’t exactly his idea,” he said.

“You mean that it was yours?”

“Well, yes, it was.”

“Indeed?  But I suppose it was named after some one?”

“Ye-es.”

“Another Evelyn, then,” she said coldly.

“No—­that is—­well, only in a way.”

“Let go of my hands, please.”

“No.”

“Very well.  What was she like, this other Evelyn?”

“Like—­like you, dearest.”

“Oh, really!”

“Listen, Eve; do you remember once five years ago when a train stopped at the top of the Saddle Pass out in Colorado?  There was a hot-box.  It was twilight in the valleys, but up there it was still half daylight and half starlight.  A little way off, in the shadow of the rocks, there was a camp-fire burning.”