otionless his thoughts were suspended, and his
senses, gaining a brief mastery, became almost feverishly alert; he felt
the night wind in his face, he heard the ceaseless stirring of the leaves,
and he saw the sparkle of the gravel in the yellow shine that streamed from
the library windows. But with his first step, his first movement, there
came a swift recoil of his anger, and he told himself with a touch of
youthful rhetoric, "that come what would, he was going to the devil--and
going speedily."

He had reached the gate and his hand was upon the latch, when he heard the
house door open and shut behind him and his name called softly from the
steps.

He turned impulsively and stood waiting, while Betty came quickly through
the lamplight that fell in squares upon the drive.

"Oh, come back, Dan, come back," she said breathlessly.

With his hand still on the gate he faced her, frowning.

"I'd die first, Betty," he answered.

She came swiftly up to him and stood, very pale, in the faint starlight
that shone between the broken clouds. A knitted shawl was over her
shoulders, but her head was bare and her hair made a glow around her face.
Her eyes entreated him before she spoke.

"Oh, Dan, come back," she pleaded.

He laughed angrily and shook his head.

"I'll die first, Betty," he repeated. "Die! I'd die a hundred times first!"

"He is so old," she said appealingly. "It is not as if he were young and
quite himself, Dan--Oh, it is not like that--but he loves you, and he is so
old."

"Don't, Betty," he broke in quickly, and added bitterly, "Are you, too,
against me?"

"I am for the best in you," she answered quietly, and turned away from him.

"The best!" he snapped his fingers impatiently. "Are you for the shot at
Maupin? the night I spent in gaol? or the beggar I am now? There's an equal
choice, I reckon."

She looked gravely up at him.

"I am for the boy I've always known," she replied, "and for the man who was
here two weeks ago--and--yes, I am for the man who stands here now. What
does it matter, Dan? What does it matter?"

"O, Betty!" he cried breathlessly, and hid his face in his hands.

"And most of all, I am for the man you are going to be," she went on
slowly, "for the great man who is growing up. Dan, come back!"

His hands fell from his eyes. "I'll not do that even for you, Betty," he
answered, "and, God knows, there's little else I wouldn't do for
you--there's nothing else."

"What will you