d upon his shoulder. He
folded his arms over her heaving shoulders--he rested his cheek upon
her black hair--he whispered her name again and again.

So they stood, Stubbs and the Priest both staring at them as at the
central figures upon the stage, until she raised her head to look once
more into his eyes. He saw her lips within a few inches of his own,
but he dared not kiss them yet. It was odd--he had never in his life
spoken an audible word of love to her--had never written of love to
her--and yet he knew that she knew all that had been unsaid, even as
he did. There had never been need of words with them. Love had been
developed in the consciousness of each in silence and in loneliness,
but had moved to this climax as surely and as inevitably as though
foreordained. He had but to look down into her eyes now and all was
said; she had but to look into his, even deadened as they were by
fatigue, to read all her heart craved. Her breath came in little
gasps.

"David--David, you have come for me again!"

"For the last time," he answered.

"You are never going to let me go again, are you, David?"

"Never," he answered fiercely.

"Ah! hold me tight, David."

He drew her more firmly to him.

"Tighter! Tighter!" she whispered.

He crushed her against his pounding heart. He ached with the joy of
it. But with the relief from the heavy burden of fear which had for so
long weighed him down, nature asserted herself and forced down his
leaden eyelids. She felt him sinking in her arms and freed herself.
With her hands upon his shoulders she drew back and looked hungrily at
him. His sandy hair was tangled and frowsy, his eyes shot with tiny
threads of red, his cheeks bronzed and covered with a shaggy light
beard. His clothes were tattered, and about his waist there dangled a
circle of leather bags. He was an odd enough looking figure. By some
strange chance she had never seen him in other than some uncouth garb;
drenched with rain, draped in an Oriental lounging robe, with a
cartridge belt about his waist, and covered with sweat and powder
grime, and now in this.

Both were brought back to the world about them by a shot from Stubbs.
He had fired at the Priest and missed. It was as though the man led a
charmed life. The girl raised her hand as Stubbs was about to fire
again.

"Don't! Don't! You are making a terrible mistake. This isn't the
Priest--he is my father."

The phrase awoke even the sleeping sense of these me