“Don’t go—don’t go, Ross! For some reason I feel—that you will not come back—to me, that I shall—shall be forced to—to marry George Hilliard.” “There—there, child!” he interrupted soothingly. “Now dry your eyes and kiss me farewell. Indeed I am tarrying too long.” She drew herself erect and, dashing aside the tears that blinded her, said icily: “In spite of all I have said and done, you’re going, are you?” “I’ve told you over and over that I _must_ go, Amy,” he replied sadly. “Then go!” she cried angrily. “It shows how much you think of me—to leave me here in a hell upon earth—without a mother to sympathize with me or advise me. I will marry George Hilliard at once—and have done with it.” “Amy! Amy!” he whispered reprovingly. “You don’t mean that; you’re angry. Wait——” The sentence was left unfinished. It was cut short with a suddenness that almost took away Douglas’s breath. By an unseen and unexpected power, the lovers were caught and violently flung apart. Two armed men stood between them. One was a tall, raw-boned man whose hatchet face was outlined by a mane of iron-gray hair. The other was younger—short, thick-set, and red-faced. The older man’s countenance was livid with rage. His lips worked—but no words came forth. At last he managed to articulate: “Git off my land instantly, Ross Douglas—you infernal sneak an’ scoundrel! Tryin’ to steal my daughter, was you? There’s no man about you! Didn’t I order you from the place an’ forbid you speakin’ to her? Go, I say! Go before I shoot you—you sneakin’ dog!” A dangerous light blazed in the settler’s eyes. He gripped his gun and shook it menacingly at Douglas. The latter was unarmed—except the hunting-knife in his belt—having left his rifle in the canoe. However, he composedly folded his arms and casting a pitying glance at Amy, who had dropped to the ground and was weeping bitterly, said quietly: “Mr. Larkin, I don’t merit the harsh words and rude treatment you have accorded me. I have done nothing dishonorable—nothing beneath the dignity of a gentleman. I love your daughter; she loves me. When you ordered me from your house and forbid me to hold further intercourse with Amy, I told you that I wouldn’t obey your mandate—that I would meet her clandestinely. I have done so. Just now I came to bid her good-by. I’m on my way to join Harrison’s army at Vincennes. When I return I’ll call upon you and ask you for her hand in marriage. If at that time you refuse my request, I’ll carry her off before your eyes.” “You impudent hound!” snorted the irate Larkin. “I have a notion to shoot you where you stand.” “Have a care, Mr. Larkin,” Douglas replied coolly. “I don’t care to have a physical encounter with my future father-in-law. But if you offer me violence, your gray hairs will not save you, I warn you. I have no fear of you or your weapon. But I’m trespassing, and will leave your place and your presence.”