He was transformed instantly from a penitent subject to a dangerous animal-thing that knew naught but the power of its own brute strength. A scowl of jealous rage distorted his features. He stepped near to her. "I want yo' t' marry me, Belle-Ann," he panted. "Air yo' a goin' t' run away an' marry me? Jest say yes or no." The desperate, unbridled fury in his eyes sent a chill to her heart. Notwithstanding this, she preserved her outward calm and smiled back serenely upon his menacing grimace. "Well--yo' better saddle up. See, yore hoss is at th' trough. I'll wait at th' block." For a moment he stood nonplused. His shifting eyes lighted with the back tide of hope that had all but ebbed away. "Yo're a meanun' t' go?" he cried out in a voice husky with new exultation. "I said fo' you'-all t' saddle an' I'll meet yo' at th' block," she repeated. He started away, then jerked about and looked searchingly into her face, the light of a sudden suspicion a-glitter in his eyes. "Yo're aimin' t' run in an' shet th' door on me, hain't yo'?" Indignation was now in her eyes as she tossed her mass of curls and regarded him with a sense of outraged veracity. "I said I'd wait fo' you'-all at th' witch-block," she said once more. He turned quickly and hurried after his horse. True to her word, Belle-Ann was waiting for Orlick at the horse-block. She sat serenely, watching his advance. At the ends of a rawhide thong a cow-horn dangled at her side, and there was no longer any fear in her heart. When Orlick caught sight of the cow-horn he stopped as though a gun was leveled at him. A flash of fury swept his face. Then she raised the horn to her lips. "Lord!" he ejaculated; "don't blow, Belle-Ann. They hain't no need--I'm a ridin' now." His rage had instantly given place to a sudden meekness, and he came on, his twitching features the hue of chalk and the gloom of utter defeat in his eyes. Belle-Ann slowly swung the horn to her side. She leaned against the horse-block and watched him saddle. Her look was neither triumphant nor scathing. Orlick did not glance at her, nor did he speak, being strenuously engaged with the horse which, having recovered its spirits, fought the bit determinedly. The saddle was double-cinched, and when Orlick tightened the flank girth the animal revolved, kicking in a circle like a bucker. When he had leaped into the saddle Orlick wheeled about facing the girl, grinning, arrogant, and bombastic. The only sign of his thoughts was a peculiar glitter playing in the depths of his eyes. "I'll say good-day t' yo'-all, Miss Benson," he said, with mockery in his tone and giving vent to a laugh, though it carried a threatening note. "I 'low yo'-all'd be happier, Orlick," ventured Belle-Ann, "ef yo'd change a bit an' jine pap's church thes Sabbath a comin', an' settle down in th' mountains an' marry some gurl thet's better matched t' yo'-all." His vibrant laugh cut into her words.