“Yes; and he has enjoyed the journey.  On the free prairie he has been like a boy out of school—­so buoyant, so joyous—­the life of the whole company.”

“What will he do now?”

“I think he will go on to Farthermost for this season.  After this I do not know what he will do or where he will go.”

“He will remain in this quarter, which offers a grand field for a man like Clarence Rockharrt,” said Rothsay.

“I should think it might—­in the future,” replied Corona.

“In the near future.  The tide of emigration is pouring into this section so fast that very soon the ground will be disputed with the Mexican government, and true men and brave men will be much wanted here.”

“Yes,” said Corona, indifferently, for she cared very little at this moment for public interests.  “But tell me of yourself, Rule.  I long to hear you talk of yourself.”

Rothsay was no egotist.  He never had been addicted to speaking of himself or of his feelings.

Now, at her urgent request, he told her in brief how he had renounced all his honors in the country for the sake of the woman for whose sake, also, he had first striven to win them and had won them.

“Dear,” he said, “from the time you first noticed me, when you were a sweet child of seven summers and I a boy of twelve—­yes, winters—­for while all your years had been summers, dear—­summers of love, shelter, comfort, luxury—­all my years had been winters of loss, want, orphanage, and destitution—­you were my help, support, inspiration.  I longed to be worthy of your friendship, your interest, your sympathy.  And for all these things I toiled, endured, and struggled.”

“I know!  Oh, I know!” said Corona, earnestly.

“Yes, dear, you know it all.  For who but you were with me in the spirit through all the struggle, helping, supporting, encouraging, until you seemed to me my muse, my soul, my inner and purer and higher self.  Dear, I wronged you when I connected your love with this world’s pride.  I wronged you bitterly, and I have suffered for it and made you suffer—­”

“Oh, no, no, no, Rule!  The fault was all my own!  I am not so good and wise as you!” exclaimed Corona.

“Hush, dear!  Hush!  Hear me out!” said Rothsay, laying his hand gently on her head.

“Well, go on, but don’t blame yourself.  Oh, ’chevalier sans peur et sans reproche,’” said Corona, fervently.

He resumed very quietly: 

“When I had reached a position in this world’s honor to which I dared to invite you, then I laid my victory at your feet and prayed you to share it.  And, Corona, when the bishop had blessed our nuptials, I dreamed that we were blessed indeed.  You know, dear, what a miserable awakening I had from that dream on the evening of our wedding day.”

“It was my fault!  It was my fault!  Oh, vain, foolish, infatuated woman that I was!” cried Corona.