er, the creak of
the saddle, and we are riding like the devil or the wind, always over
plains that stretch out into more miles, however far I ride. I am bent
over the saddle, peering forward. That's what I had when my blood moved
too fast for me. Now I shall dream of fight. Playmate, what is it?"

"It isn't anything. I didn't speak."

"Yes, but there was that quick little breath. I keep hurting you
somehow. Do you suppose I want any of it except for you? I want to ride
to you. I want to fight because I could fight for you."

"Ah," she said sadly, "you think so now for a minute. But you had
forgotten me."

"Yes, I had," he owned. "That's being a man, too. We have to forget you
or we couldn't ride and we couldn't fight. But it's all for you."

There was the thunder again.

"I must go back," she said.

"Yes, it's going to rain. You must go. One minute. It won't come yet.
Does he know you have told Electra?"

"My father? Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He--accepted it." For some reason, she dared not tell him how that
acceptance troubled her. Osmond himself seemed like an unknown force as
ready to bring confusion as calm.

But he knew.

"You are afraid of him," he said. "Dear child, don't be afraid. Sit down
hard and say 'no' and 'no,' whatever he demands. You are here with us.
Grannie is an angel of light. She'll send for shining cohorts and
they'll camp round about you. There's Peter--your Peter. And I'll die
for you."

"No! no!" The assurance of his tone was terrifying to her. She saw him
dying in unnecessary sacrifice. "Nobody must die for me. We must all
live and be good children and do what grannie would want us to."

"Then the first thing is to run home and go to bed. The storm is coming.
Good-night, dear playmate. I'll follow on behind and see you don't get
lost."

"One minute!" She paused, not knowing how to say it. "Can't you take it
back?" she adventured. "What you said about my father?"

He laughed, with an undertone of wild emotion.

"Not even for you! I did want to kill him. If I got my hands on him, I
should want it again. But it was for you."

"Good-night."

She was going, and he called after her,--

"Remember!"

"What shall I remember?"

She halted hopefully, and the old kind voice was near her:--

"Remember I would die for you."

XXIII

Peter was early at Osmond's door. He did not find him working, though
the other men had been many hours afield, but standing still ga