he was a woman--and such a woman! I could no
more hold her prisoner against her will than I could fly. My whole
nature revolted at the thought of it. She was a woman--a dangerous
woman, no doubt, but still a woman--and that settled it for me.

And then, after I had looked at the door long enough to stare it out of
countenance, if it had had one, I turned to the mother and stared at
her. There was just the shadow of a smile hovering around her lips, and
it nettled me. "She is parading as a man," I said, "and I think I shall
treat her as one. A man can be rapped on the head, tied up, and bundled
about, without regard for his comfort."

"And yet," said the mother, with her knowing smile, "you wouldn't hurt
a hair of her head, nor give her a moment's discomfort." She made the
statement with so much complacency that I was more than irritated; I
was vexed.

"If you knew me," I declared, "you wouldn't say that. I have no
patience with women who try to play the man."

"I know you well enough to say what I have said," she replied. "You
have a face that tells no lies--and more's the pity."

"Where has she gone?" I inquired.

"That I can't tell you," the mother replied; "but it would be the
wonder of the world if she had gone to bed. We who love her have no
power to control her. She needs a stronger hand than ours."

"I could tell you something if I would," she remarked presently; "but
it would be like feeling my way in the dark, and I dare not. Yet there
is another thing I will tell you that can do no harm, though I promised
to keep it to myself. If you stay here you will get in trouble. The man
you shot night before last has a brother, and this brother is
determined to capture you. I'm telling you this because I think you are
a good young man. I had a son once who, if he had lived, should be
about your age, and I would have thanked any woman in the world to have
given him the warning I have given you. You can gain nothing by
remaining here. You can return in the morning. Jane will be here; she
is not going to run away from you."

"Nevertheless, I must do my duty," I said. "With your permission, I
shall remain here. Does Jane Ryder know of the purpose of this fellow?"

"Oh, no; I wouldn't tell her. She has trouble enough." She paused and
hesitated. "Why not go? There is the door; it is unlocked and you will
still have time to join your friends. This is all I can say to you--all
I can do for you."

"No; you can pray fo