e and hang me
instead--it wouldn't scare me so much: but father would be just like a
child, crying and crying and crying, if they kept him in jail and were
going to do that in the end. And then no one would expect Christa and me
to have any more fun, and we never would have any. There's a way that
you can get father off, Bart, and give him at least one more chance to
run for his life. If you'll do it, I'll do whatever you want,--I'll sign
the pledge; I'll go to church; I'll teach Christa that way. She and I
won't dance any more. You can count on me. You can trust me. You know
that when I say a thing I'll do it."

He realised now what had happened to him--a thing that of all things he
had learned to dread most,--a desperate temptation. He answered, and his
tone and manner gave her no glimpse of the shock of opposing forces that
had taken place within a heart that for many months had been dwelling in
the calm of victory.

"I cannot do it, Ann."

"Bart Toyner," she said, "I'm all alone in this world; there's not a
soul to help me. Every one's against me and against him. Don't turn
against me; I need your help--oh, I need it! I never professed to care
about you; but if your father was in danger of dying an awful death and
you came to me for help, I wouldn't refuse you, you know I wouldn't."

He only spoke now with the wish to conceal from her the panic within;
for with the overwhelming desire to yield to her had come a ghastly fear
that he was going to yield, and faith and hope fled from him. He saw
himself standing there face to face with his idea of God, and this
temptation between him and God. The temptation grew in magnitude, and
God withdrew His face.

"I know, Ann, it sounds hard about your father" (mechanically); "but you
must try and think how it would be if he was lying wounded like Walker
and some other man had done it. Wouldn't you think the law was in the
right then?"

"No!" (quickly). "If father'd got a simple wound, and could be nursed
and taken care of comfortably until he died, I wouldn't want any man to
be hanged for it. It's an awful, awful thing to be hanged."

She waited a moment, and he did not speak. The lesser light of night is
fraught with illusions. She thought that she saw him there quite plainly
standing quiet and indifferent. She was so accustomed to his
appearance--the carefulness of his dress, the grave eyes, and the thin,
drooping moustache--that her mind by habit filled in these detai