"Dale, run for it! Out the back way, and I'll help you! Go far, anywhere, Dale, and make good--but escape! When it's safe for you to come back I'll send word--but hurry! Hurry! They're almost at the lane!" "I can't go," he said, smiling at her, "till you're paid up--drop of blood for drop of blood!" A cry burst from her lips--a cry exquisite of all her mental agony. He could not resist it, and his hand went quickly to her shoulder. "Don't--oh, don't touch me!" she implored him. "Listen, only listen! I'm half crazed by everything, and this is the last, the very last time I'll have a chance to speak to you for--who can tell? So listen! I want you to go, at once--fly now! You can take any of the horses--reach the mountains and hide! I'll send you things--anything! Don't make me suffer," she fairly screamed at him, "but go! Oh, what crucifixion I've brought you to! Great God above, what crucifixion--and after you have done so wonderfully well! Spare me, Dale, I can't endure it! Your life must not go out, and suddenly lose its purpose, because of a human vengeance that is worthless!" He spoke more hurriedly, for the horsemen were in the lane and coming fast: "Nothing is worthless that calls a man to do his duty like a man! An' I'd be worse'n a coward to turn back from a duty to the very person who's taught me what duty is!" "But think--think," she urged, "of the good there is in you to help that great mankind whose voice you say you've heard! All of that good will be--choked out," she shuddered, "or rot in those gray walls you dread!" He looked toward the gate, through which the sheriff now might dash at any moment. She saw in his face the terrible dread of that alternative and, to help him win the way she wished, grasped his arm. But slowly his eyes turned back, moving affectionately across the rows of books lining the walls, and, as though echoing impressions gathered from their great storehouse, he whispered: "What good there is in a man is there to stay. God, Himself, couldn't take it out. It's only wickedness that twists it in a different shape, and makes people think it never was! Do you reckon your good'll go when you die?" "But its opportunities to extend--they will be stopped!" she cried. "Yours will be stopped!" The horses were in the circle now, and she implored even more frantically: "Run for it--run!" "No! The biggest men in those covers," he pointed again to the shelves, "wouldn't be there today if they'd run! Jesus would be a by-word, and the world couldn't raise its head to a single hero." The horses had stopped, and a man was dismounting. "Good-bye," the big mountaineer said quietly. He put out his hand, but she did not see it. She had slipped into a chair and was burying her sobbing face in her arms. Steps sounded on the porch, and a bell far back in the house jingled. He looked at her another long, breathless moment, then turned and walked out through the French window.