"I mean," said Peyton, recovering his wits, "a half hour till the troops may be here for me,--only a half hour until I must leave your house forever! Do not let me be deprived of the sight of you for those last minutes! Tis so short a time, yet 'tis all my life!" "The man is mad, I think!" She spoke as if to herself. "Mad!" he echoed. "Yes, some do call it a madness--the love that's born of a glance, and lasts till death!" "Love!" said she. "'Tis impossible you should come to love me, in so short a time." "'Tis born of a glance, I tell you!" he cried. "What is it, if not love, that makes me forget my coming death, see only you, hear only you, think of only you? Why do I not spend this time, this last hour, in pleading for my life, in begging you to hide me and send the troops away without me when they come? They would take your word, and you are a woman, and women are moved by pleading. Why, then, do I not, in the brief time I have left, beg for my life? Because my passion blinds me to all else, because I would use every moment in pouring out my heart to you, because my feelings must have outlet in words, because it is more than life or death to me that you should know I love you!--God, how fast that clock goes!" She had stood in wonderment, under the spell of his vehemence. Now, as he leaned towards her, over the chair-back, his breath coming rapidly, his eyes luminous, she seemed for a moment abashed, softened, subdued. But she put to flight his momentary hope by starting again for the doorway, with a low-spoken, "I must go!" But he thrust his chair in her way. "Nay, don't go!" he said. "You may hear my avowal with propriety. My people are as good as any in Virginia." She stood regarding him with a look of scrutiny. "You are a rebel against your king," she said, but not harshly. "Is not the King soon to have his revenge? And is that a reason why you should leave me now?" "You deserted your first colors." "'Twas in extraordinary circumstances, and in the right cause. And is that a reason why you--" "You took my horse." "But paid you for it, and you have your horse again. Abuse me, madam, but do not go from me. Call me rebel, deserter, robber, what you will, but remain with me. Denunciation from your lips is sweeter than praise from others. Chastise me, strike me, trample on me,--I shall worship you none the less!" He inclined his body further forward over the chair-back, and thus was very near her. She put out her hand to repel him. He moved back with humility, but took her hand and kissed it, with an appearance of passion qualified by reverence. "How dare you touch my hand?" And she quickly drew it from him. "A poor wretch who loves, and is soon to die, dares much!" "You seem resigned to dying," she remarked. "Have I not said 'tis better than living with a hopeless passion?" "And yet death," she said, "_that_ kind of a death is not pleasant."