him and Peter.  In those seconds he felt himself giving way, and the determined action he had built up for himself began to crumble like sand.  He had made his confession and in spite of it this young girl he worshipped—­sweeter and purer than the flowers of the forest—­was urging herself upon him!  And his soul cried out for him to turn about, and open his arms to her, and gather her into them for as long as God saw fit to give him freedom and life.

But still he fought against that mighty urge, dragging reason and right back fragment by fragment, while Nada stood behind him, her wide-open, childishly beautiful eyes beginning to comprehend the struggle that was disrupting the heart of this man who was an outlaw—­and her god among men.  And when Jolly Roger turned, his face had aged to the grayness of stone, and his eyes were dull, and there was a terribly dead note in his voice.

“You can’t go with us,” he said.  “You can’t.  It’s wrong—­all wrong.  I couldn’t take care of you in jail, and some day—­that’s where I’ll be.”

More than once when she had spoken of Jed Hawkins he had seen the swift flash of lightning come into the violet of her eyes.  And it came now, and her little hands grew tight at her sides, and bright spots burned in her cheeks.

“You won’t!” she cried.  “I won’t let you go to jail.  I’ll fight for you—­if you’ll let me go with you and Peter!”

She came a step nearer.

“And if I stay here Jed Hawkins is goin’ to sell me to a tie-cutter over on the railroad.  That’s what it is—­sellin’ me.  I ain’t—­I mean I haven’t—­told you before, because I was afraid of what you’d do.  But it’s goin’ to happen, unless you let me go with you and Peter.  Oh, Mister Roger—­Mister Jolly Roger—­”

Her fingers crept up his arms.  They reached his shoulders, and her blue eyes, and her red lips, and the woman’s soul in her girl-body were so close to him he could feel their sweetness and thrill, and then he saw a slow-gathering mist, and tears—­

“I’ll go wherever you go,” she was whispering, “And we’ll hide where they won’t ever find us, and I’ll be happy, so happy, Mister Roger—­and if you won’t take me I want to die.  Oh—­”

She was crying, with her head on his breast, and her slim, half bare arms around his neck, and Jolly Roger listened like a miser to the choking words that came with her sobs.  And where there had been tumult and indecision in his heart there came suddenly the clearness of sunshine and joy, and with it the happiness of a new and mighty possession as his arms closed about her, and he turned her face up, so that for the first time he kissed the soft red lips that for some inscrutable reason the God of all things had given into his keeping this day.

And then, holding her close, with her arms still tighter about his neck, he cried softly,

“I’m goin’ to take you, little girl.  You’re goin’ with Peter and me, for ever—­and ever.  And we’ll go—­tonight!”