ell softly from his lips. He stepped into the
room, closing the door as he did so.

The girl's eyes were dilating with a mute horror, for by some swift
intuitive process of the mind, which asked nothing of the logic of
events, but dealt only with conclusions, Murrell stood revealed as
Norton's murderer. Perhaps he read her thoughts, but he had lived in his
degenerate ambitions until the common judgments or the understanding
of them no longer existed for him. That Betty had loved Norton seemed
inconsequential even; it was a memory to be swept away by the force of
his greater passion. So he watched her smilingly, but back of the smile
was the menace of unleashed impulse.

"Can't you find some word of welcome for me, Betty?" he asked at length,
still softly, still with something of entreaty in his tone.

"Then it was you--not Tom--who had me brought here!" She could have
thanked God had it been Tom, whose hate was not to be feared as she
feared this man's love.

"Tom--no!" and Murrell laughed. "You didn't think I'd give you up? I am
standing with a halter, about my neck, and all for your sake--who'd risk
as much for love of you?" he seemed to expand with savage pride that
this was so, and took a step toward her.

"Don't come near me!" cried Betty. Her eyes blazed, and she looked at
him with' loathing.

"You'll learn to be kinder," he exulted. "You wouldn't see me at Belle
Plain; what was left for me but to have you brought here?" While Murrell
was speaking, the signal that had told of his own presence on the
opposite shore of the bayou was heard again. This served to arrest his
attention. A look of uncertainty passed over his face, then he made an
impatient gesture as if he dismissed some thought that had forced itself
upon him, and turned to Betty.

"You don't ask what my purpose is where you are concerned; have you
no curiosity on that score?" She endeavored to meet his glance with a
glance as resolute, then her eyes sought the boy's upturned face. "I
am going to send you down river, Betty. Later I shall join you in New
Orleans, and when I leave the country you shall go with me--"

"Never!" gasped Betty.

"As my wife, or however you choose to call it. I'll teach you what a
man's love is like," he boasted, and extended his hand. Betty shrank
from him, and his hand fell at his side. He looked at her steadily out
of his deep-sunk eyes in which blazed the fires of his passion, and as
he looked, her face paled and