"You'll get over that," he assured her; neither of them saw in such an assurance the confession that he knew she loved David still. And still his smitten god was silent! "You--you hate him because he slighted you," Blair said, stammering with passion. "But for God's sake, Elizabeth, _show_ him that you hate him. Since he despises you, despise him! Will you let him slap you in the face, and still love him?" "I do not love him." They were both standing; Elizabeth, staring at him with unseeing eyes, seemed to be answering some fierce interrogation in her own thought: What? was _this_ the way to kill David Richie? That it would kill her, too, never occurred to her. If it had occurred to her, it would have seemed worth while--well worth while! "Then why do you let him think you love him?" Blair was insisting, in a violent whisper, "why do you let him think you are under his heel still? Show him you hate him--if you do hate him? Marry me, _that will show him._" They were standing, now, facing each other--Love and Hate. Love, radiant, with glorious eyes, with beautiful parted lips, with outstretched hands that prayed, and threatened, and entreated: "Come! I must have you,--God, I _must!_" And Hate, black-browed, shaking from head to foot, with dreadful set stare, and hands clenched and trembling; hands that reached for a dagger to thrust, and thrust again! Hands reaching out and finding the dagger in that one, hot, whispered word: "Come." Yes; that would "show him"! "When?" she said, trembling. And he said, "Now." Elizabeth flung up her head with a look of burning satisfaction. "_Come!_" she said; and laughing wildly, she struck her hand into his. CHAPTER XIX When Robert Ferguson came in to luncheon the next day, he asked for Elizabeth. "She hasn't come home yet from Nannie's," Miss White told him; "I thought she would be here immejetly after breakfast. I can't imagine what keeps her, though I suppose they have a great deal to talk over!" "Well, she'll have to wait for her good news," Mr. Ferguson said; and handed a telegram to Miss White. "Despatch from David. He's bringing a patient across the mountains to-night; says he'll turn up here for breakfast. He'll have to go back on the ten-o'clock train, though." Cherry-pie nibbled with excitement; "I guess he just had to come and talk the arrangements over with her!" "What arrangements?" Mr. Ferguson asked, vaguely; when reminded by Miss White, he looked a little startled. "Oh, to be sure; I had forgotten." Then he smiled: "Well, I suppose I shall have to say 'yes.' I think I'll go East myself next week!" he added, fatuously; but the connection was not obvious to Miss White. "Elizabeth got a letter from him yesterday," she said, beaming; "they've decided on her birthday--if you are willing."