“You believe that?” she questioned eagerly.  “You believe that it was necessary for me to—­lie?” She leaned a little toward him, her fingers twining themselves about one another nervously, as she waited for him to answer.

“Yes,” said Howland.  He spoke the one word with a finality that sent a gladness into the soft brown eyes across from him.  “I believe that you had to lie to me.”

His low voice was vibrant with unbounded faith.  Other words were on his lips, but he forced them back.  A part of what he might have said—­a part of the strange, joyous tumult in his heart—­betrayed itself in his face, and before that betrayal the girl drew back slowly, the color fading from her cheeks.

“And I believe you will not lie to me again,” he said.

She rose to her feet and flung back her hair, looking down on him in the manner of one who had never before met this kind of man, and knew not what to make of him.

“No, I will not lie to you again,” she replied, more firmly.  “Do you believe me now?”

“Yes.”

“Then go back into the South.  I have come to tell you that again to-night—­to make you believe me.  You should have turned back at Le Pas.  If you don’t go—­to-morrow—­”

Her voice seemed to choke her, and she stood without finishing, leaving him to understand what she had meant to say.  In an instant Howland was at her side.  Once more his old, resolute fighting blood was up.  Firmly he took her hands again, his eyes compelling her to look up at him.

“If I don’t go to-morrow—­they will kill me,” he completed, repeating the words of her note to him.  “Now, if you are going to be honest with me, tell me this—­who is going to kill me, and why?”

He felt a convulsive shudder pass through her as she answered,

“I said that I would not lie to you again.  If I can not tell you the truth I will tell you nothing.  It is impossible for me to say why your life is in danger.”

“But you know?”

“Yes.”

He seated her again in the chair beside the table and sat down opposite her.

“Will you tell me who you are?”

She hesitated, twisting her fingers nervously in a silken strand of her hair.  “Will you?” he persisted.

“If I tell you who I am,” she said at last, “you will know who is threatening your life.”

He stated at her in astonishment.

“The devil, you say!” The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.  For a second time the girl rose from her chair.

“You will go?” she entreated.  “You will go to-morrow?”

Her hand was on the latch of the door.

“You will go?”

He had risen, and was lighting a cigar over the chimney of the lamp.  Laughing, he came toward her.

“Yes, surely I am going—­to see you safely home.”  Suddenly he turned back to the lounge and belted on his revolver and holster.  When he returned she barred his way defiantly, her back against the door.