ourt, until--"

"Until when?"

"Until Zeb Sawyer is--is--out of the way. People flatter me and praise
me, but they don't know what I have suffered. And my father doesn't
understand me. When you called Sawyer a coward I wanted to shout in
the street."

"Still you consented to marry him."

"Yes, to live for a little longer in peace. But I know a tall rock
over on the creek, and from the top of it is a long way to the cruel
boulders below. They call it 'Lover's Leap,' and I have thought after
awhile the name might be changed to 'Despair's Leap.' At night I have
dreamed of that rock, and sometimes my dream would continue after I
opened my eyes. Our engagement was for one year, and often I said to
myself that I had but one year longer to live. At church I would pray,
and I could hear the words, 'Children, obey your parents.' And then I
would go home and pretend to be happy in that obedience."

"But you signed the petition."

"Yes, with a prayer that you would not sign it."

"And I won't."

"Not even if they should come with pistols?"

"Not if they should come with a mob and a rope."

She looked up at him, with her hands clasped in her lap. The light
fell upon her face, and in its human loveliness was the divine spirit
of sadness. Lyman looked upward at the fleece among the stars, the
lace curtain of the night.

"With the strength accidentally dedicated to me by a body of men
assembled to break the customs of a class opposed to them, I will hold
you a prisoner, free from the grasp of a feelingless clown," he said.
"I will protect you. And when you have really fallen in love, and
believe that your happiness depends upon a man, I will sign the
petition."

With the frankness of a child she sprung from the seat and grasped
his hand: "Oh, you stand between me and the tall rock," she said.
"Good night--God bless you."

She ran away. Lyman looked after her, with dim vision--her white gown
spectral in the misty light.

CHAPTER XII.

WANTED TO DREAM.

Lyman walked slowly down the tree-darkened lane that led to the main
street of the village. Beneath a forest oak, where the desolate town
cow and the stray sheep had come to seek freedom from the annoyances
of the day, he halted and looked back. The few remaining lanterns were
like fire-flies in a growth of giant grass. The members of the
"string-band" were singing a negro melody. The notes came floating
with the mirth-shriek of a maiden, and the hoarse lau