Part 73 (2/2)

She flung this statement aside with a jerk of her head. ”You used to like me, Racey,” she told him.

He nodded miserably.

”Don't you like me any more?” she persisted.

He did not nod. Nor did he speak. He stared down at the back of the hand lying on top of his.

”Look at me, boy,” she directed.

He looked. The fingers of the hand on top of his slid in between his fingers.

”Look me in the eye,” said she, ”and tell me you don't love me.”

”I cuc-can't,” he muttered in a panic.

”Then why are you going away?” Her voice was gentle--gentle and wistful.

”Because yo're rich now, that's why,” he replied, thickly, the words wrung out in a rush. ”You've lots o' money, and I ain't got a thing but my hoss and what I stand up in. How can I love you, Molly?”

”Lean over here, and I'll show you how,” said Molly Dale.

THE END

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