trained tips of her fingers.

Bully Presby, the arrogant and forceful, still resting his hand on her
head, turned toward the twisted, youthful face of the man at his side,
whose fingers were now clenched together, and held at arm's length in
front of him. The mine owner seemed suddenly old and worn. The
invincible fire of his eyes was dulled to a smoldering glow, as if,
reluctantly, he were making way for age. His broad shoulders appeared
suddenly to have relinquished force and might. He stooped above her,
as if about to gather her into his arms, and spoke with the slow voice
of pathos.

"She's right," he said. "She's right! I should pay; and I will! But I
did it for her. She was all I had. I've starved for her, and worked
for her, and stolen for her! Ever since her mother died and left her
in my arms, I've been one of those carried away by ambition. God is
damning me for it, in this!" He abruptly straightened himself to his
old form, and gestured toward the sobbing girl at his feet. "I am
paying more to her than as if I'd given you the Rattler and
all--all--everything!--for the paltry ore I pulled from under your
feet. You shall have your money. Bully Presby's word is as good as his
gold. You know that! I don't know anything about you. I don't hate
you, because you are fighting for your own! Somehow I feel as if the
bottom had been knocked out of everything, all at once! I wish you'd
go now. I want to have her alone--I want to talk to her--just the way
I used to, before--before--"

He had gone to the limit. His strong hands knotted themselves as they
clenched, then unclenched as he stepped to the farther side of the
door and looked at Dick, who had not moved; but now, as if his
limitations also had been reached, the younger man leaned forward,
stooped, and his arms caught Joan and lifted her bodily to his breast.
In slow resignation, and with a sigh as if coming to shelter at last,
her arms lifted up, her hands swept round his shoulders, and came to
rest, clasped behind his head, and held him tightly, as if without
capitulation.

There was a gasp of astonishment, and the rough pine floor creaked as
Bully Presby, dumbfounded, comprehending, conquered, turned toward the
door. He opened it blindly, fumbling for the knob with twitching
hands--hands unused to faltering. He looked back and hesitated, as if
all his directness of life, all his fierce decision of character had
become undermined, irresolute. He opened his l