t get over
the queer look in your face when I told you who that man really was." He
stopped and flung his overcoat down on the floor, and fixing her with a
look he demanded: "You don't love him, do you?"

Again the Girl sent over her shoulder a forced little laugh.

"Who--me?"

The Sheriff's face brightened. Taking a few steps nearer to her, he
hazarded:

"Say, Girl, was your answer final to-night about marrying me?"

Without turning round the Girl answered coyly:

"I might think it over, Jack."

Instantly the man's passion was aroused. He strode over to her, put his
arms around her and kissed her forcibly.

"I love you, I love you, Minnie!" he cried passionately.

In the struggle that followed, the Girl's eyes fell on the bottle on the
mantel. With a cry she seized it and raised it threateningly over her
head. Another second, however, she sank down upon a chair and began to
sob, her face buried in her hands.

Rance regarded her coldly; at last he gave vent to a mirthless laugh,
the nasty laugh of a man whose vanity is hurt.

"So, it's as bad as that," he sneered. "I didn't quite realise it. I'm
much obliged to you. Good-night." He snatched up his coat, hesitated,
then repeated a little less angrily than before: "Good-night!"

But the Girl, with her face still hidden, made no answer. For a moment
he watched the crouching form, the quivering shoulders, then asked, with
sudden and unwonted gentleness:

"Can't you say good-night to me, Girl!"

Slowly the Girl rose to her feet and faced him, aversion and pity
struggling for mastery. Then, as she noted the spot where he was now
standing, his great height bringing him so near to the low boards of the
loft where her lover was lying that it seemed as though he must hear the
wounded man's breathing, all other feelings were swept away by
overwhelming fear. With the one thought that she must get rid of
him,--do anything, say anything, but get rid of him quickly, she forced
herself forward, with extended hand, and said in a voice that held out
new promise:

"Good-night. Jack Rance,--good-night!"

Rance seized the hand with an almost fierce gladness in both his own,
his keen glance hungrily striving to read her face. Then, suddenly, he
released her, drawing back his hand with a quick sharpness.

"Why, look at my hand! There's blood on it!" he said.

And even as he spoke, under the yellow flare of the lamp, the Girl saw a
second drop of blood fall at her feet.