n, pursuing the extraordinary
course he had taken in this matter, should side with Eliot, Brother
Bethuel being a traitor too up stairs, he might not be able to overcome
the outlaw in an attack. He set his teeth, therefore, and stood still.
His hat was off; the sunset light touched his forehead and yellow hair;
the image of strength and young manhood, he confronted them in his
elegant attire--confronted the outlaw in his rough, unclean garments;
Honor in her old, black gown; and Stephen in his torn clothes, his tired
face looking yellow and withered as the face of an old baboon. He
considered whether he could keep the door until the troops came: they
would not be long behind him. But, if he only had his pistols!

His eye glanced toward Stephen; but Stephen never carried arms. Eliot,
probably, had only a knife; if he had had a pistol, he would have shown
it before now. All this in the flash of a second.

Brother Bethuel could be heard bringing Marcher around the house.
Stephen made one more effort. In a few, concise words he explained who
Eliot was, and his own great wish to aid him in escaping. With his hand
on Royce's arm, he called his attention, by a gesture, to Honor.

"Let the man go for my sake and--hers," he said, in a low voice, looking
up at his young cousin with his small, pale-colored eyes.

Honor clasped her hands and made a step forward; she did not speak, but
implored with an entreating gaze. Royce threw his head back impatiently.
All this was nothing to him. He would have his man, or die for it; they
all saw that.

Then Eliot, who had watched to see the result of this pleading, made up
his mind.

"Stand back from the door, or I fire!" he cried, drawing out his hand,
and taking aim at Royce.

He had a pistol, then!

"I give you thirty seconds!"

But Honor, with a wild scream, ran forward, and threw herself against
Royce's breast, covering it with her shoulders and head, and raising her
arms and hands to shield his face. He did not hold her or put his arm
around her; but she clung to him with her whole length, as a wet ribbon
clings to a stone.

"Leave him, Honor!" cried Eliot, in a fury--"leave him, or I'll shoot
you both!"

"Shoot, then!" said Honor, looking up into Royce's face, and frantically
trying to cover every inch of it with her shielding hands.

Stephen ran and caught Eliot's arm; Royce, half blinded, tried to push
the girl away; then the sound of the pistol filled the room. Royce