her,
repudiating herself and him, and all this sickening, miserable
situation.

Isbel took her literally. She had convinced him. And the instant held
blank horror for Ellen.

"By God--then I'll have somethin'--of you anyway!" muttered Isbel,
thickly.

Ellen saw the blood bulge in his powerful neck. She saw his dark, hard
face, strange now, fearful to behold, come lower and lower, till it
blurred and obstructed her gaze. She felt the swell and ripple and
stretch--then the bind of his muscles, like huge coils of elastic rope.
Then with savage rude force his mouth closed on hers. All Ellen's
senses reeled, as if she were swooning. She was suffocating. The
spasm passed, and a bursting spurt of blood revived her to acute and
terrible consciousness. For the endless period of one moment he held
her so that her breast seemed crushed. His kisses burned and braised
her lips. And then, shifting violently to her neck, they pressed so
hard that she choked under them. It was as if a huge bat had fastened
upon her throat.

Suddenly the remorseless binding embraces--the hot and savage
kisses--fell away from her. Isbel had let go. She saw him throw up
his hands, and stagger back a little, all the while with his piercing
gaze on her. His face had been dark purple: now it was white.

"No--Ellen Jorth," he panted, "I don't--want any of you--that way." And
suddenly he sank on the log and covered his face with his hands. "What
I loved in you--was what I thought--you were."

Like a wildcat Ellen sprang upon him, beating him with her fists,
tearing at his hair, scratching his face, in a blind fury. Isbel made
no move to stop her, and her violence spent itself with her strength.
She swayed back from him, shaking so that she could scarcely stand.

"Y'u--damned--Isbel!" she gasped, with hoarse passion. "Y'u insulted
me!"

"Insulted you?..." laughed Isbel, in bitter scorn. "It couldn't be
done."

"Oh! ... I'll KILL y'u!" she hissed.

Isbel stood up and wiped the red scratches on his face. "Go ahead.
There's my gun," he said, pointing to his saddle sheath. "Somebody's
got to begin this Jorth-Isbel feud. It'll be a dirty business. I'm
sick of it already.... Kill me! ... First blood for Ellen Jorth!"

Suddenly the dark grim tide that had seemed to engulf Ellen's very soul
cooled and receded, leaving her without its false strength. She began
to sag. She stared at Isbel's gun. "Kill him," whispered the
retreatin