“You’ll—­kill him?”

“If God lets me live another hour!  If not God—­then the devil who drives me!”

“You’ll kill him—­for yourself—­for your vengeful hate?”

“No!”

“For Milly Erne’s sake?”

“No.”

“For little Fay’s?”

“No!”

“Oh—­for whose?”

“For yours!”

“His blood on my soul!” whispered Jane, and she fell to her knees.  This was the long-pending hour of fruition.  And the habit of years—­the religious passion of her life—­leaped from lethargy, and the long months of gradual drifting to doubt were as if they had never been.  “If you spill his blood it’ll be on my soul—­and on my father’s.  Listen.”  And she clasped his knees, and clung there as he tried to raise her.  “Listen.  Am I nothing to you?”

“Woman—­don’t trifle at words!  I love you!  An’ I’ll soon prove it.”

“I’ll give myself to you—­I’ll ride away with you—­marry you, if only you’ll spare him?”

His answer was a cold, ringing, terrible laugh.

“Lassiter—­I’ll love you.  Spare him!”

“No.”

She sprang up in despairing, breaking spirit, and encircled his neck with her arms, and held him in an embrace that he strove vainly to loosen.  “Lassiter, would you kill me?  I’m fighting my last fight for the principles of my youth—­love of religion, love of father.  You don’t know—­you can’t guess the truth, and I can’t speak ill.  I’m losing all.  I’m changing.  All I’ve gone through is nothing to this hour.  Pity me—­ help me in my weakness.  You’re strong again—­oh, so cruelly, coldly strong!  You’re killing me.  I see you—­feel you as some other Lassiter!  My master, be merciful—­spare him!”

His answer was a ruthless smile.

She clung the closer to him, and leaned her panting breast on him, and lifted her face to his.  “Lassiter, I do love you!  It’s leaped out of my agony.  It comes suddenly with a terrible blow of truth.  You are a man!  I never knew it till now.  Some wonderful change came to me when you buckled on these guns and showed that gray, awful face.  I loved you then.  All my life I’ve loved, but never as now.  No woman can love like a broken woman.  If it were not for one thing—­just one thing—­and yet!  I can’t speak it—­I’d glory in your manhood—­the lion in you that means to slay for me.  Believe me—­and spare Dyer.  Be merciful—­great as it’s in you to be great....Oh, listen and believe—­I have nothing, but I’m a woman—­a beautiful woman, Lassiter—­a passionate, loving woman—­and I love you!  Take me—­hide me in some wild place—­and love me and mend my broken heart.  Spare him and take me away.”

She lifted her face closer and closer to his, until their lips nearly touched, and she hung upon his neck, and with strength almost spent pressed and still pressed her palpitating body to his.

“Kiss me!” she whispered, blindly.

“No—­not at your price!” he answered.  His voice had changed or she had lost clearness of hearing.