He stood with his arms outstretched toward the shrinking girl. His whole body was shaking with the passion that had sent his words pouring in a tide of unthought, unconsidered appeal. He had no understanding of whither his words had carried him. All he knew was that he loved this girl with his whole soul and body. That she could love him in return was something unbelievable, yet he must tell her. He must tell her all that was in his simple heart.
He waited. It seemed ages, but in reality it was only moments.
Presently Joan looked up. She raised her eyes timidly, and in a moment Buck saw that they were filled with unshed tears. He started forward, but she shrank back farther. But it was not with repugnance. Her movement was almost reluctant, yet it was decided. It was sufficient for the man, and slowly, hopelessly he dropped his arms to his sides as the girl's voice so full of distress at last broke the silence.
"Oh, Buck, Buck, why--oh, why have you said these things to me? You don't know what you have done. Oh, it was cruel of you."
"Cruel?" Buck started. The color faded from his cheeks. "Me cruel--to you?"
"Yes, yes. Don't you understand? Can't you see? Now--now there is nothing left but--disaster. Oh, to think that I should have brought this upon you--you of all men!"
Buck's eyes suddenly lit. Unversed as he was in all such matters, he was not blind to the feeling underlying her words. But the light swiftly died from his eyes as he beheld the great tears roll slowly down the girl's fair cheeks, and her face droop forward into her hands.
In a moment all restraint was banished in the uprising of his great love. Without a thought of consequences he bridged the intervening space at one step, and, in an instant, his arms were about the slim, yielding figure he so tenderly loved. In a moment his voice, low, tender, yet wonderful in its consoling strength, was encouraging her.
"Disaster?" he said. "Disaster because I love you? Where? How? Say, there's no disaster in my love for you. There can't be. All I ask, all I need is jest to make your path--easier. Your troubles ain't yours any longer. They sure ain't. They're mine, now, if you'll jest hand 'em to me. Disaster? No, no, little gal. Don't you to cry. Don't. Your eyes weren't made for cryin'. They're jest given you to be a man's hope. For you to see just how much love he's got for you."
Joan submitted to his embrace for just so long as he was speaking. Then she looked up with terrified eyes and released herself.