“Yes, of course.” She was growing more and more uneasy. She glanced about for a way of escape. “Why did you leave me as you did?” “I told you then.” She tried to cross toward the dressing tent. He stepped quickly in front of her. “You aren't answering FRANKLY, and you aren't happy.” She was growing desperate. She felt she must get away, anywhere, anywhere. He seized her small wrists and forced her to look at him. “And _I_ am not happy without YOU, and I never, NEVER can be.” The floodgates were open, his eyes were aglow, he bent toward her eagerly. “Oh, you mustn't,” she begged. “You MUSTN'T.” “You've grown so close,” he cried. “So close!” She struggled to be free. He did not heed her. “You know--you must know what I mean.” He drew her toward him and forced her into his arms. “You're more precious to me than all else on this earth.” For the first time he saw the extreme pallor on her face. He felt her growing limp and lifeless in his arms. A doubt crossed his mind. “If I am wrong in thinking you feel as I do, if you honestly care for all this,” he glanced about at the tents, “more than for any life that I can give you, I shan't interfere. You'll be going on your way in an hour. I'll say good-bye and God bless you; but if you do care for me, Polly,” he was pleading now, “if you're NOT happy here--won't you come back to me? Won't you, Polly?” She dared not meet his eyes, nor yet to send him away. She stood irresolute. The voice of Deacon Strong answered for her. “So! You're HERE, are you?” “Yes, Deacon Strong, I'm here,” answered the pastor, as he turned to meet the accusing eyes of the deacon, who had come quickly from behind the dressing tent. “As for you, miss,” continued Strong, with an insolent nod toward Polly, “I might have known how you'd keep your part of the bargain.” “Bargain?” echoed Douglas. “What bargain?” “Oh, please, Deacon Strong, please. I didn't mean to see him, I didn't, truly.” She hardly knew what she was saying. “What bargain?” demanded Douglas sternly. “She told me that you and her wasn't ever goin' ter see each other agin,” roared Strong. “If I'd a-knowed she was goin' to keep on with this kind o' thing, you wouldn't er got off so easy.” “So! That's it!” cried Douglas. It was all clear to him now. He recalled everything, her hysterical behaviour, her laughter, her tears. “It was you who drove that child back to this.” He glanced at Polly. The narrow shoulders were bent forward. The nervous little fingers were clasping and unclasping each other. Never before had she seemed so small and helpless. “Oh, please, Mr. John, please! Don't make him any worse!” “Why didn't you tell me?” he demanded. “It would have done no good,” she sobbed. “Oh, why--why won't you leave me alone?” “It would have done all the good in the world. What right had he to send you back to this?” “I had every right,” said Strong, stubbornly. “What?” cried Douglas. “It was my duty.” “Your duty? Your narrow-minded bigotry!”