Even, the sternest fibre must at length succumb under prolonged Herculean endeavour.  No man may long continuously wag his ears, even alternately; therefore Sam perforce paused in time.  Yet by that time—­in what manner it occurred no one may know—­Nora was seated on the chair next to him at the table.  They were alone.  Silence fell.  Nora’s hand moved nervously among the spoons.  Upon it dropped the mutilated one of Sam.

“Nory,” said he, “I’d—­I’d work ’em all my life—­fer you!” And to Nora, who turned away her head now, not for the purpose of hiding a smile, this seemed always a perfectly fit and proper declaration of this man’s regard.

“I know I’m no good,” murmured Sam.  “I’m a awful coward.  I-I-I’ve l-l-loved you ever sence the fust time that I seen you, but I was such a coward, I—­I couldn’t—­couldn’t—­”

“You’re not!” cried Nora imperiously.

“Oh, yes, I am,” said Sam.

“Look at them,” said Nora, almost touching his crippled fingers.  “Don’t I know?”

“Oh, that,” said Sam, hiding the hand under the droop of the tablecloth.  “Why, that?  I got froze some, a-drivin’.”

“Yes, and,” said Nora accusingly, “how did you get froze?  A-drivin’ ’way down there, in the storm, after folks.  No one else’d go.”

“Why, yes.  Cap Franklin, he went,” said Sam.  “That wasn’t nothin’.  Why, o’ course we’d go.”

“No one else wouldn’t, though.”

Sam wondered.  “I was always too much a coward to say a word to you,” he began.  And then an awful doubt sat on his soul.

“Nory,” he resumed solemnly, “did ever any feller say anything to you about my—­I-I-I—­well, my lovin’ you?”

“I should say not!” said Nora.  “I’d a’ slapped his face, mighty quick!  What business—­”

“Not never a single one?” said Sam, his face brightening.

“No, ’ndeed.  Why, I’d like to know?  Did you ever ask any one to!”

“I should say not!” said Sam, with the only lie he ever told, and one most admirable.  “I should say not!” he repeated with emphasis, and in tones which carried conviction even to himself.

“You’d better not!” said Nora.  “I wouldn’t of had you if they had!”

Sam started.  “What’s that, Nory?” he said.  “Say that ag’in!  Did you say you wouldn’t of had me—­you wouldn’t of?” His hand found hers again.

“Yes,” faltered Nora, seeing herself entrapped by her own speech.

“Then, Nory,” said Sam firmly, casting a big arm about her waist, “if you wouldn’t of had me then, I reckon now you do.”  And neither from this subtlety nor from the sturdy arm did Nora seek evasion, though she tugged faintly at the fingers which held fast her waist.

“I don’t care,” she murmured vaguely.  “There ain’t no coward would of done it!” Whereat Sam, seeing himself a hero, wisely accepted fate and ceased to argue.  The big arm tightened manfully, and into his blue eyes came the look of triumph.