He took a step, and stood beside her, looking down at her gravely.  He took one of her hands, she permitting it, lifting her eyes to his as he drew the hand toward him.  The hand lay inertly in his left; he covered it with his right and held it thus in a warm, firm grip.  Then he met her eyes, his own swimming with a gentleness that made her draw a slow, deep breath of wonder.

This minute had been anticipated by both of them; for many months, when they had stood close together, they had felt the imminence of surrender to the longing that dwelt in both of them.

But the girl resisted, as she had resisted many times.  Her breath came rapidly, and the captive hand trembled as she tried to withdraw it.

“No; not now, Kane!” she protested; “not now—­please!”

Lawler laughed lowly, and held the hand for an instant longer, while he compelled the girl’s eyes to meet his.

“All right,” he said; “not now.  But the time will come.  Something is worrying you, Ruth.  But you don’t trust me enough to tell me what it is.  Some day—­when you discover that nothing but your love means anything to me; when you realize that I love you enough to take you in spite of the thing that worries you—­you’ll tell me.  And then we’ll forget it.”

He stepped back, releasing her hand, for he had heard a commotion outside—­Jimmy’s voice, high-pitched, carrying a note of savage triumph; and the voices of the other pupils in a shrill murmur, coming closer.

Ruth started, clenched her hands and backed to the desk, where she stood, her eyes wide, her breath coming fast, a picture of apprehension and dismay.

Her big eyes went to Lawler, who grinned faintly at her.

“I reckon Jimmy’s coming with his ‘paw,’” he said.

A big man, massive, muscular, with heavy shoulders that seemed to droop with the weight of his great, long arms, stepped into the room.

The man’s head was big, like the rest of him, and covered with shaggy, tawny hair which seemed to bristle with truculence.  His chin was huge, square, and sagging a little, his lips were in a hideous pout; and his eyes, small, black, with heavy brows that made them seem deep-set, were glittering with passion.

He paused just inside the door, seemingly to accustom his eyes to the subdued light of the room.  His long arms were hanging at his sides, the fingers clenching and unclenching close to the heavy pistols he wore—­one at each hip.  As he stood there, blinking his eyes at Ruth and Lawler, Lawler spoke.

“Come in, Singleton,” he said.

Ruth was still standing at the desk.  Her arms were now outstretched along it, her hands gripping its edge.  She started at the sound of Lawler’s voice, amazed at the change that had come in it—­wondering how—­when it had been so gentle a few minutes before—­it could now have in it a quality that made her shudder.

She saw the big man’s eyes widen, noted that his shoulders sagged a little when he heard Lawler’s voice; observed that there seemed to come an appreciable lessening of the tension of his taut muscles.  She marveled that the sound of one man’s voice could have so calming an effect upon another—­that it could, at a stroke, seemingly, cool the white-hot rage that had seized the man.