think I won't. You would never understand that you couldn't give it, EfSe."
"Why couldn't I ? Guy, you always call me a child; but — ^but perhaps I could understand, dear. What have you done, Guyl"
"Oh, a very little thing," said Randal, rough- ly. "I have made you the common talk of the district, Effie. That is all. You — my little white flower! Do you know what men will say of me and of you, Effie, because we love each other?"
"No," she said, with wide eyes.
"No. Of course not." His voice broke. "But I know, dear. I came here with a bad name, Effie, and I never troubled to deny it. Well — there was some truth in it. But since I have known you — Effie, Effie, if you loved me as I love you, you could make of me what you liked. I'd take you away———”
She shrank from the passion of face and voice, and he saw it.
"Forgive me, dear. I'm sorry. But it is all ended now, Effie. Your father has sacked me. He knows."
"Guy! Guy! You're not going away?"
"I can't," said Randail, speaking with diffi- culty.
"Then it isn't ended! It need never be end- ed. There are still the hills and the dear old lonely gullies for us. Guy———”
