“Yes—­yes; I hope so, yes; but it is not for me; it can never be for me—­I am no more than a child, a homeless waif, a nobody.  You forget that I do not even know who I am, or the name I ought rightfully to bear.  I will not have it so.”

“Naida, sweetheart!” and he burst impetuously through all bonds of restraint, her flushed cheeks the inspiration to his daring.  “I will speak, for I care nothing for all this.  It is you I love—­love forever.  Do you understand me, darling?  I love you!  I love you!”

For an instant,—­one glad, weak, helpless, forgetful instant,—­she did not see him, did not even know herself; the very world was lost.  Then she awoke as if from a dream, his strong arms clasped about her, his lips upon hers.

“You must not,” she sobbed.  “I tell you no!  I will not consent; I will not be false to myself.  You have no right; I gave you no right.”

He permitted her to draw away, and they stood facing each other, he eager, mystified, thrilling with passion almost beyond mastery, she trembling and unstrung, her cheeks crimson, her eyes filled with mute appeal.

“I read it in your face,” he insisted.  “It told of love.”

“Then my face must have lied,” she answered, her soft voice tremulous, “or else you read the message wrongly.  It is from my lips you must take the answer.”

“And they kissed me.”

“If so, I knew it not.  It was by no volition of mine.  Lieutenant Brant, I have trusted you so completely; that was not right.”

“My heart exonerates me.”

“I cannot accept that guidance.”

“Then you do not love me.”

She paused, afraid of the impulse that swept her on.  “Perhaps,” the low voice scarcely audible, “I may love you too well.”

“You mean there is something—­some person, perhaps—­standing between?”

She looked frankly at him.  “I do mean just that.  I am not heartless, and I sincerely wish we had never met; but this must be the end.”

“The end?  And with no explanation?”

“There is no other way.”  He could perceive tears in her eyes, although she spoke bravely.  “Nor can I explain, for all is not clear even to me.  But this I know, there is a barrier between us insurmountable; not even the power of love can overcome it; and I appeal to you to ask me no more.”

It was impossible for him to doubt her sober earnestness, or the depth of her feelings; the full truth in her words was pictured upon her face, and in the pathetic appeal of her eyes.  She extended both hands.

“You will forgive me?  Truly, this barrier has not been raised by me.”

He bowed low, until his lips pressed the white fingers, but before he could master himself to utter a word in reply, a distant voice called his name, and both glanced hastily around.

“That cry came from the valley,” he said.  “I left my horse tied there.  I will go and learn what it means.”