She went on. "When I promised him six months ago it was all so vague, so far off, and I was so miserable, Jack—so homeless and badgered, and dependent, it was all so far off, I thought—waiting for his brother to die, and now! You know how these English are, they take these things so seriously, their marriages and promises, they are so matter-of-fact about it, and so consistent: why, Jack, he looks on me already as his bride. He is just as busy planning for our future, arranging how the estate is to be remodeled, what home we are to have, I couldn’t get out of it honorably even—Jack, even if—" "Even if you should happen to love me?" I said, looking very earnestly into her eyes. She nodded, her head dropped low. For the first time in her life I saw tears in her eyes. "Oh, Jack, I am miserable! It was all so far off once,—now—only next month,—and you know I’d die before I’d deceive him—big boy that he is, and trusting and worshipping me, Jack. Yes, that is what hurts me—worshipping me as he does—I couldn’t. I couldn’t, Jack! If I have any one strong thing in me, you know it is—" "Keeping your faith with your friends," said I. She nodded. "Do you think I am wicked to marry him this way? Won’t you come, in after years, to despise me?" For answer I stooped and kissed her. She put both her arms around my neck. "Please stay with me," she cried, "I do so need you. I just heard it to-day. It was why he came and stayed so long. Please stay and be with me till he leaves. Just stay with me, Little Brother, this time." "Why," I said, "this time? Surely he will resent it. Any man would want this night of all others to be with you." "Jack, you don’t understand. I am miserable. That is why I rode Satan as I did. When I put him at that fence I hoped—it is wicked I know—but I hoped that he would kill me." She was sobbing in my arms. "Eloise, don’t," I said; "let me go. Don’t you know that it is harder on me than it is on you? Do you think I am made of stone—of wood—to come home expecting sweetness and find it all rue—my dreams about you—" "Just to-night, Jack. You’ll—you’ll laugh at me when I say why, but, but, you know how punctilious these Englishmen are, and he thinks I must kiss him to-night when he goes." I felt the hot blood rush to my heart. It was instinct, the reversion of a past ancestor who fought another man for kissing his wilderness bride. "Eloise, you wouldn’t?" "If you’ll kiss me again, Jack, as you did just now. I never felt so before—until—but it you’ll kiss me again—that way, I’ll never kiss him—never!" I held her in my arms. I kissed her eyes, which were moist. I kissed her mouth, and it seemed as though my soul went into hers; for when, in desperation, in an exhilaration which was all but madness I broke away I heard her cry faintly, "_Jack, Jack!_" ... I saw her arms around the great fatherly tree, her head against it. *CHAPTER XII*