“No,” he answered, almost roughly. “It’s about you, Jane. You’ve just got to answer me. Are you going to be married?” “Yes,” she said, her voice so low he could scarcely hear the monosyllable. They walked on in silence for twenty paces or more, turning down the path that led to the swamp road. “I—I was afraid so,” he muttered. Then fiercely: “Who are you going to marry?” She sighed. “I am going to marry the first man who asks me,” she replied, and, having cast the die, was instantly mistress of herself. “Have you any objections?” she asked, almost mockingly. If he heard the question he paid no heed to it. She felt the muscles of his strong forearm grow taut, and she heard the quick intake of his breath. She waited. She began to hum a vagrant little air. It seemed an age to her before he spoke. “Jane,” he said gently and steadily, “if you were a man and in my place—I mean in my predicament—would you go so far as to ask the girl you love better than anything in all the world to marry you?” “I don’t know just what you mean.” “I mean, supposing they find my father out there in the swamp and there are indications that he met with foul play, and I stand the chance of being accused—” “Don’t be silly,” she cried. “Well—would you ask her?” “There couldn’t be any harm in asking her. She could refuse you, you know.” “That’s so. She could, couldn’t she. I—I hadn’t thought of that. Still you said you were going to marry the first man who asks you.” “Yes, Oliver, I am—but, of course, I am expecting the man I love to ask me.” “There’s the gypsy’s prophecy,” he murmured thickly. “It—it may come true, Jane.” “It—it cannot come true,” she cried. “It cannot, Oliver.” “Still it is something to be considered,” he said heavily and judicially. His hand closed over hers and gripped it tightly. “If you were in my place wouldn’t you hesitate about inviting her to—to become a widow?” “Oh, I love you, Oliver, when your voice sounds as if it had a laugh in it,” she whispered. “In a month I will be thirty,” he went on, his heart as light as air. “I might ask her to give me a thirty day option, or something like that.” “You goose!” He pressed her arm to his side, and was serious when he spoke again, after a moment’s pause. “I have never asked a girl to marry me, Jane. Never in all my life. Do you know why?” She buried her face against his shoulder. A vast, overwhelming thrill raced through him. Her warm, supple body suddenly and mysteriously became that of another woman—a strange woman so unlike Jane that his senses swam with wonder. What magic was this? This was not Jane—not the Jane he had known forever! Something incredibly feminine, sensuous, intoxicating—His arms went about her and drew her close. “God! Is—is this you, Jane?” he whispered. “Is it really you?” She lifted her head. A little sob of joy broke on her lips. Gazing up into his eyes, bright even in the darkness, she murmured a bewildered question.