Ray knelt beside him at the window, and he believed she meant to speak then of the thing they had shunned. Her face was still white, but sweeter now, warm with rich life beneath the marble; and her dark eyes were still intent, still haunted by shadows, but no longer tragic. “I'm glad for MacNelly's sake as well as the state's,” said Duane. She made no reply to that and seemed to be thinking deeply. Duane shrank a little. “The pain--Is it any worse to-day?” she asked, instantly. “No; it's the same. It will always be the same. I'm full of lead, you know. But I don't mind a little pain.” “Then--it's the old mood--the fear?” she whispered. “Tell me.” “Yes. It haunts me. I'll be well soon--able to go out. Then that--that hell will come back!” “No, no!” she said, with emotion. “Some drunken cowboy, some fool with a gun, will hunt me out in every town, wherever I go,” he went on, miserably. “Buck Duane! To kill Buck Duane!” “Hush! Don't speak so. Listen. You remember that day in Val Verde, when I came to you--plead with you not to meet Poggin? Oh, that was a terrible hour for me. But it showed me the truth. I saw the struggle between your passion to kill and your love for me. I could have saved you then had I known what I know now. Now I understand that--that thing which haunts you. But you'll never have to draw again. You'll never have to kill another man, thank God!” Like a drowning man he would have grasped at straws, but he could not voice his passionate query. She put tender arms round his neck. “Because you'll have me with you always,” she replied. “Because always I shall be between you and that--that terrible thing.” It seemed with the spoken thought absolute assurance of her power came to her. Duane realized instantly that he was in the arms of a stronger woman that she who had plead with him that fatal day. “We'll--we'll be married and leave Texas,” she said, softly, with the red blood rising rich and dark in her cheeks. “Ray!” “Yes we will, though you're laggard in asking me, sir.” “But, dear--suppose,” he replied, huskily, “suppose there might be--be children--a boy. A boy with his father's blood!” “I pray God there will be. I do not fear what you fear. But even so--he'll be half my blood.” Duane felt the storm rise and break in him. And his terror was that of joy quelling fear. The shining glory of love in this woman's eyes made him weak as a child. How could she love him--how could she so bravely face a future with him? Yet she held him in her arms, twining her hands round his neck, and pressing close to him. Her faith and love and beauty--these she meant to throw between him and all that terrible past. They were her power, and she meant to use them all. He dared not think of accepting her sacrifice. “But Ray--you dear, noble girl--I'm poor. I have nothing. And I'm a cripple.”