His cheeks were burning with eagerness now. Roughly he pressed closer. “You talk like we was married!” she exclaimed. “To-morrer’s time ’nuff for that. But I wanter make sure of you to-night.” All the fighting instinct in her flared up--the fighting instinct based upon her pride of womanhood. Like a fury she turned on the man. “I’d die afore I went with you, Bud Childers!” she exploded. “But yo’ll come,” he said. “Yo’ll come.” “Go ’way! Go ’way!” “I won’t go away--without’n you. ’Cause if I do--s’help me Gawd I’ll get yo’ pink-cheeked fren’ fust.” If the girl had been struck between the eyes, she could have been no more dazed. A blow would have left her less dazed because then she might not have been able to think. She could think now. Her thoughts ran like flames through dry grass. And like wild flames first in this direction and then that. There was so much in her poor little head that was inflammable! Miss Wilmer and the Prince--a-holdin’ hands! It was a lie! Wouldn’t she have known, living right here with them, if Miss Wilmer or Mr. Allston--but another burning thought cut in and enveloped this one. They did not know about her--neither of them--then why should she know about them? Love might be a hidden thing, like gold in the ground. It was a lie--and yet something must have held Bud back when he had this man so at his mercy. It was a lie, and yet not the sort of lie Bud would make up. Bud could lie on occasion--he had lied that night he said her mother was sick--but he was not lying now. Silently the tall, lean figure stood beside her in the dark awaiting her decision. She turned as though in hope of detecting in him some slight evidence of weakness. She could not see his face, but that was not essential. She felt the set of his thin mouth. He was grimly in earnest. He meant every word he said both about Allston and about herself. He had spoken of love--of love for her. Here was something to catch at. If he was honest about that, he could not be all bad. But before she could reason very far along this line, she heard some one calling from the house. It was Allston who had come into the kitchen. Bud turned in a flash with half-raised gun. Allston stood framed in the doorway--an easy mark. With a desperate cry Roxie threw herself in front of Childers. “I’ll go, Bud,” she whimpered. “I’ll go.” CHAPTER XIII Roxie made one request of Bud Childers. “You’ll let me go back ter the house and git some things, Bud?” If any one else, under these circumstances, had suggested this, he would have grown instantly suspicious. Even now he hesitated. “I--I’ll tell ’um I’m goin’ ter bed an’ then they won’t hunt fer me,” she added quickly. “I reckon you’ll come back,” he decided, “’cause ef yo’ don’--” “I promise,” she whispered. “I’ll take yer promise,” he said. “Ef you’ll cross yer throat.” She crossed her throat. “Then I’ll wait hyar half an hour. Thet long nuff?” There was a trace of consideration in the question.