ssion of
hate. "You shall not--ever!"

"Really, Mr. Fitzpatrick," replied Donald, gently, "I cannot agree
to that, and I might as well tell you now that I intend to marry
Jean somewhere, some time, if human effort can bring it about, and
the sooner the better."

"You wouldn't dare say that to me, if I weren't laid up," hissed
Fitzpatrick, his hands clenching and unclenching.

"Yes, sir, I would! I have never said it before, because I hadn't
the right. Jean loves me, and will marry me; that is all I want
to know."

"And you leave me, her father, out of it? You don't even ask my
permission?"

"Why should I? You said I should never marry her. If that is your
attitude, I don't care to consult you; I shall go ahead with this
matter in my own way."

"Look here, McTavish!" The voice was suddenly calm, but its _timbre_
held a note that drew Donald's immediate attention. "Do you realize,
when you say that, that you are deliberately, and to my face, riding
over all authority, not only from the Company's standpoint, but
from a father's? I am talking to you now in coolness, and I ask
well-considered replies. Do you realize that you are damning yourself
forever in my sight by your words and your attitude?"

"I am sorry, sir," replied the other, with genuine regret; "but,
in matters of this kind, I can only consult my own feelings and
determinations. You ask what is impossible of me; I ask what is
impossible of you. I think we had better separate while outwardly
calm to avoid any more useless and bitter words."

"I am glad to know your attitude," retorted the factor, dryly.
"Now, let me put to you one more question. I beseech you, for your
own good and happiness, to answer it as I wish. You may have a
week, if you like to think it over. I ask you, for the last time:
Will you give up all hope or thought of ever marrying Jean? Will
you promise never to see her or communicate with her again? Will
you retire to your post, and stay there until I can get you shifted
to the West?"

With the lover, there could be but one answer, but, for some almost
occult reason, he hesitated. The tone, grave, portentous, almost
menacing, the paternal, kindly attitude, the pleading that
unconsciously crept through the other's words; all these gave Donald
to know that some crisis was at hand. For an instant, he thought
of the silent, heavy moment before the breaking of a summer
thunder-storm; and, mentally, he prepared himself for some sort of