“Have a smoke out here, Gray,” said he, “while I put away the stuff.  No, no help, thank you.  James will be here, by and by, to pack it properly.”

“Stephen”—­Rosamond stood at the edge of the hill below the porch—­“bring your cigar down here; it’s simply perfect.  You can lie on your side here among the pine needles and watch the sky.”

They went around a clump of trees to a spot where the pine needles were thick, just out of sight of the cabin door.  No doubt but Rosamond and Stephen liked to have things to themselves; there was no pretence about that.  It was almost the anniversary of their marriage—­their most happy marriage.

Roberta stood still upon the porch, looking, or appearing to look, off at the sunset.  Once again she would have liked to run away.  But—­where to go?  Rosamond and Stephen did not want her; it would have been absurd to insist on following them.  If she herself should stroll away among the pine trees, she would, of course, be instantly pursued.  The porch was undoubtedly the most open and therefore the safest spot she could be in.  So she leaned against the pillar and waited, her heart behaving disturbingly meanwhile.  She could hear Richard, within the cabin hurriedly clearing the table and stuffing everything away into the cupboards on either side of the fireplace—­he was making short work of it.  Before she could have much time to think, his step was upon the porch behind her; he was standing by her shoulder.

“It’s a wonderful effect, isn’t it?  Must we talk about it?” he inquired softly.

“Don’t you think it deserves to be talked about?” she answered, trying to speak naturally.

“No.  There’s only one thing in the world I want to talk about.  I can’t even see that sky, for looking at—­you.  I’ve stood at the top of this slope more times than I can tell you, wondering if I should dare to build this little cabin.  The idea possessed me, I couldn’t get away from it.  I bought the land—­and still I was afraid.  I gave the order to the builder—­and all but took it back.  I knew I ran every kind of risk that you wouldn’t understand me—­that you would think I still had that abominable confidence that I was fool enough to express to you last—­February.  Does it look so?”

She nodded slowly without turning her head.

His voice grew even more solicitous; she could hear a little tremble in it, such as surely had not been there last February, such as she had never heard there before.  “But it isn’t so!  With every log that’s gone in, a fresh fear has gone in with it.  Even on the way here to-day I had all I could do not to turn off some other way.  The only thing that kept me coming on to meet my fate here, and nowhere else, was the hope that you loved the spot itself so well that you—­that your heart would be a bit softer here than—­somewhere else.  O Roberta—­I’m not half good enough for you, but—­I love you—­love you—­”

His voice broke on the words.  It surely was a very far from confident suitor who pleaded his case in such phrases as these.  He did not so much as take her hand, only waited there, a little behind her, his head bent so that he might see as much as he could of the face turned away from him.