"I'm going--in one moment more. Miss Landcraft, I'll ride away from you tonight perhaps never to see you again, and if I speak impetuously before I leave you, forgive me before you hear the words--they'll not hurt you--I don't believe they'll shame you." "Don't say anything more, Mr. Macdonald--even this delay may cost your life!" "They'll kill me if they can; they've tried it more than once. I never know when I ride away whether I'll ever return. It isn't a new experience, just a little graver than usual--only that. I came here tonight because I--I came to--in the hope--" he stammered, putting out his hands as if supplicating her to understand, his plaid falling to the ground. "Go!" she whispered, her hand on his arm in appeal, standing near him, dangerously near. "I've got a right to love you--I've got a right!" he said, the torrent of his passion leaping all curbing obstacles of delicacy, confusion, fear. He flung the words from him in wild vehemence, as if they eased a pang. "No--no, you have no right! you--" "I'll leave you in a minute, Frances, without the expectation of ever seeing you again--only with the hope. It's mine to love you, mine to have you if I come through this night. If you're pledged to another man it can't be because you love him, and I'll tear the right away from him--if I come through this night!" He spoke rapidly, bending so near that his breath moved the hair on her temple. She stood with arms half lifted, her hands clenched, her breath laboring in her bosom. She did not know that love--she had not known that love--could spring up that way, and rage like a flame before a wind. "If you're pledged to another man, then I'll defy him, man to man--I do defy him, I challenge him!" As he spoke he stooped, suddenly, like a wind-bent flame, clasped her, kissed her, held her enfolded in his arms one moment against his breast. He released her then, and stepped back, standing tall and silent, as if he waited for her blast of scorn. It did not come. She was standing with hands pressed to her face, as if to cover some shame or sorrow, or ease the throbbing of a soul-deep pain. The sound of men and horses came from the corral. He stood, waiting for judgment. "Go now," she said, in a sad, small voice. "Give me a token to carry away, to tell me I have not broken my golden hope," he said. "No, I'll give you nothing!" she declared, with the sharpness of one wronged, and helpless of redress. "You have taken too much--you have taken--" "What?" he asked, as if he exulted in what he heard, his blood singing in his ears. "Oh, go--go!" she moaned, stripping off one long white glove and throwing it to him.