ajor. It must be
broken to him gently, by degrees. Boy, boy, don't you know what it is
to love; to have your heart twisted, broken, trampled? You must not tell
him. It would kill. I--know." She crushed her hands in her lap.

"I'm a coward if I run," he said.

"A murderer if you stay," she answered. "And Mr. Waterbury--he will flay
you--keep you in the mire. I know. No, you must go, you must go. Must
have a chance for regeneration."

"You are very kind--very kind. You do not say you loathe me." He arose
abruptly, clenching his hands above his head in silent agony.

"No, I do not," she whispered, leaning forward, hands gripping the log,
eyes burning up into his face. "I do not. Because I can't. I can't.
Because I love you, love you, love you. Boy, boy, can't you see? Won't
you see? I love you--"

"Don't," he cried sharply, as if in physical agony. "You don't know what
you say--"

"I do, I do. I love you, love you," she stormed. Passion, long stamped
down, had arisen in all its might. The surging intensity of her nature
was at white heat. It had broken all bonds, swept everything aside in
its mad rush. "Take me with you. Take me with you--anywhere," she panted
passionately. She arose and caught him swiftly by the arm, forcing up
her flaming face to his. "I don't care what you are--I know what you
will be. I've loved you from the first. I lied when I ever said I hated
you. I'll help you to make a new start. Oh, so hard! Try me. Try me.
Take me with you. You are all I have. I can't give you up. I won't! Take
me, take me. Do, do, do!" Her head thrown back, she forced a hungry arm
about his neck and strove to drag his lips to hers.

He caught both wrists and eyed her. She was panting, but her eyes
met his unwaveringly, gloriously unashamed. He fought for every word.
"Don't--tempt--me--Sue. Good God, girl! you don't know how I love you.
You can't. Loved you from that night in the train. Now I know who you
were, what you are to me--everything. Help me to think of you, not of
myself. You must guard yourself. I'm tired of fighting--I can't----"

"It's the girl up North?"

He drew back. He had forgotten. He turned away, head bowed. Both were
fighting--fighting against love--everything. Then Sue drew a great
breath and commenced to shiver.

"I was wrong. You must go to her," she whispered. "She has the right of
way. She has the right of way. Go, go," she blazed, passion slipping up
again. "Go before I forget honor; forge