d provide an exit for us. Oh, my poor love, will you not
listen to me? Will you not give me the life I crave? George, let us
go--together."

Her words came passionately. She had stepped forward and placed her
two brown hands upon his great shoulders, and her dark, earnest eyes
gazed lovingly up into his.

The temptation was a sore one, and the man found it hard to resist. He
experienced a sudden rush of blood to the brain. His body seemed to be
on fire. He was pulsating with a mad passion. The thought of what she
suggested came near to overthrowing his sternest resolve. To go with
her. To have her evermore by his side. The thought was maddening.
Surely he had never realized until that moment how dearly he loved
this woman. But his strong nature came to his rescue in time. The
passion had died down as swiftly as it had risen and left him cold and
collected.

He gazed down into the brown eyes ever so kindly, ever so lovingly;
and his answer came in a tone so gentle that the girl felt that
whatever the future might hold for them, this moment had been worth
living for.

"No, no, sweetheart. Not flight, even though you would be my
companion. We love one another dearly, and for that very fact I could
never allow myself to remain under this cloud. At all costs we will
have the matter cleared. I owe it to you, to those at the farm, and to
myself."

The girl's hands dropped to her sides and she turned away. Then all
the agony of her soul found vent in one exclamation.

"Oh, God!" she cried. And with that last cry came the revealing flash
which answered the question she had so repeatedly asked herself. She
turned back to her lover, and the agonized expression of her face had
changed, and in her eyes was the eager light of excitement. Iredale
saw the change, but did not recognize its meaning. He felt that she
must no longer remain there.

"Child, I want you to go back to the farm and tell them of the
accusation that has been brought against me. Tell them all the
circumstances of it. Tell them that I have clearly convinced you of my
innocence; but, as you love me, I charge you not to reveal the manner
in which it was done. Tell your mother that I shall come over
to-morrow, and she shall hear the whole story from my own lips. I wish
to do this that she may hear my version before she reads of what must
happen in the papers. After that I shall go into Winnipeg and set the
law in motion. I will clear myself or--otherwise. But