t closed to me!"

"I imagine you will be welcome at Belle Plain. You are Tom's friend."
Murrell bit his lip, and then laughed as his mind conjured up a picture
of the cherished Tom. Suddenly he reached out and rested his hand on
hers. He lived in the shadow of chance not always kind, his pleasures
were intoxicating drafts snatched in the midst of dangers, and here was
youth, sweet and perfect, that only needed awakening.

"Betty--if I might think--" he began, but his tongue stumbled. His
love-making was usually of a savage sort, but some quality in the girl
held him in check. The words he had spoken many times before forsook
him. Betty drew away from him, an angry color on her cheeks and an angry
light in her eyes. "Forgive me, Betty!" muttered Murrell, but his heart
beat against his ribs, and passion sent its surges through him. "Don't
you know what I'm trying to tell you?" he whispered. Betty gathered up
her reins. "Not yet--" he cried, and again he rested a heavy hand on
hers. "Don't you know what's kept me here? It was to be near you--only
that--I've been waiting for this chance to speak. It was long in coming,
but it's here now--and it's mine!" he exulted. His eyes burned with a
luminous fire, he urged his horse nearer and they came to a halt. "Look
here--I'll follow you North--I swear I love you--say I may!"

"Let me go--let me go!" cried Betty indignantly.

"No--not yet!" he urged his horse still nearer and gathered her close.
"You've got to hear me. I've loved you since the first moment I rested
my eyes on you--and, by God, you shall love me in return!" He felt her
struggle to free herself from his grasp with a sense of savage triumph.
It was the brute force within him that conquered with women just as it
conquered with men.

Bruce Carrington, on his way back to Fayetteville from the Forks, came
about a turn in the road. Betty saw a tall, handsome fellow in the first
flush of manhood; Carrington, an angry girl, very beautiful and very
indignant, struggling in a man's grasp.

At sight of the new-comer, Murrell, with an oath, released Betty, who,
striking her horse with the whip galloped down the road toward the
Barony. As she fled past Carrington she bent low in her saddle.

"Don't let him follow me!" she gasped, and Carrington, striding forward,
caught Murrell's horse by the bit.

"Not so fast, you!" he said coolly. The two men glared at each other for
a brief instant.

"Take your hand off my horse!" e