“Yes, sir.”

“Did you want him to do thet?”

“I!  Indeed I didn’t.”

“Columbine, not so long ago you told me this fellar wasn’t sweet on you.  An’ do you still say that to me—­are you still insistin’ he ain’t in love with you?”

“He never said so—­I never believed it ... and now I’m sure—­he isn’t!”

“Ahuh!  Wal, thet same day you was jest as sure you didn’t care anythin’ particular fer him.  Are you thet sure now?”

“No!” whispered Columbine, very low.  She trembled with a suggestion of unknown forces.  Not to save a new and growing pride would she evade any question from this man upon whom she had no claim, to whom she owed her life and her bringing up.  But something cold formed in her.

Belllounds, self-centered and serious as he strangely was, seemed to check his probing, either from fear of hearing more from her or from an awakening of former kindness.  But her reply was a shock to him, and, throwing down his pencil with the gesture of a man upon whom decision was forced, he rose to tower over her.

“You’ve been like a daughter to me.  I’ve done all I knowed how fer you.  I’ve lived up to the best of my lights.  An’ I’ve loved you,” he said, sonorously and pathetically.  “You know what my hopes are—­fer the boy—­an’ fer you....  We needn’t waste any more talk.  From this minnit you’re free to do as you like.  Whatever you do won’t make any change in my carin’ fer you....  But you gotta decide.  Will you marry Jack or not?”

“I promised you—­I would.  I’ll keep my word,” replied Columbine, steadily.

“So far so good,” went on the rancher.  “I’m respectin’ you fer what you say....  An’ now, when will you marry him?”

The little room drifted around in Columbine’s vague, blank sight.  All seemed to be drifting.  She had no solid anchor.

“Any—­day you say—­the sooner the—­better,” she whispered.

“Wal, lass, I’m thankin’ you,” he replied, with voice that sounded afar to her.  “An’ I swear, if I didn’t believe it’s best fer Jack an’ you, why I’d never let you marry....  So we’ll set the day.  October first!  Thet’s the day you was fetched to me a baby—­more’n seventeen years ago.”

“October—­first—­then, dad,” she said, brokenly, and she kissed him as if in token of what she knew she owed him.  Then she went out, closing the door behind her.

Jack, upon seeing her, hastily got up, with more than concern in his pale face.

“Columbine!” he cried, hoarsely.  “How you look!...  Tell me.  What happened?  Girl, don’t tell me you’ve—­you’ve—­”

“Jack Belllounds,” interrupted Columbine, in tragic amaze at this truth about to issue from her lips, “I’ve promised to marry you—­on October first.”