’He is your father—­I love you!

’Yes, yes, and oh, I am glad you love me; but you must leave me to do what I can alone.  It is not your duty to help him.  Think of your mother, your brother, your own honour.’

‘We can save Frank now without this.’

‘You cannot be sure of that, Harry—­you only hope so.’

‘Am I to tell the troopers, then?’

’No, no—­oh, no; I am not brave enough to say that!  I cannot bear to think of you as his hunter, his bitterest foe.  ’Twas that thought made my shame and my sorrow so terrible a burden; but I can carry it better now.’

‘My poor girl! my poor girl!’

He bent his lips to the white hand upon his shoulder and kissed it tenderly.

‘God bless you, Harry!’ she faltered, tears springing to her eyes.  ’I know how generous you are.  As a boy you had a big brave heart, and I admired you and loved you for it; but I can take no sacrifice that might bring more sorrow upon your mother, that might wrong your brother and bring shame to you.’

’But Frank’s innocence will be known.  Dickie Haddon heard them as good as admit it.’

’Yes, I know the story.  I made Mrs. Haddon tell me all, and I know that they left you to drown; and now for my sake you would save him, run the risk of being discovered assisting him to escape from justice—­and the risk is great, dear.  Think what it would mean if that became known, how it would blacken poor Frank’s case.  People would say they had all been in league to rob the mine; you would be despised, your mother’s heart would break.  Harry, that must not be.  The shame is mine now; you and yours have borne enough.  I cannot drag you into it again.  I cannot have your precious love for me made a source of danger and dishonour to you.  No, no; I love you too well for that—­much too well for that, dear.’

She spoke in little more than a whisper, but there was the intensity of deep feeling in every word.

He drew her to her feet and into his arms again with tender reverence, and softly kissed her tired eyelids.  She was only a girl, and the strife of the last two days had told upon her strength.  It was sweet to rest so, knowing and feeling his strength, confident of his devotion.

‘But I love you—­I love you, Chris,’ he said.

‘Yes, you love me and I love you.’  Her hand stole to his neck.  ’Ah, how happy we might have been!

‘Might have been?  We must be happy—­we must!’ he said vehemently.  ’I love you, an’ your sorrow is mine, your trouble is mine.  I won’t let anything interfere.  I must help you!

’No, Harry, I will not take your help.  You do not stand alone.  Before I would have you do that I would tell the truth myself.  My father is ill; he may never get away.  I think he will not.  What would be left to me if he were taken after all, and you were known to have assisted him in his endeavours to elude the police?  I could not bear it.  No, no, dear, you must leave us alone to that.  Promise.’