thoughts together,
to judge what she should do, what under the circumstances would be
best to be done.

"Come now," repeated Jonas. "If you are true and honest, as you
say, call him."

She put her trembling hand to her head, wiped the drops from her
brow, the tears from her eyes, the dew from her quivering lips.

Her brain was reeling, her power of will was paralyzed.

"Come, now," said Jonas once more, "answer him--here am I."

Then Mehetabel cried, "Iver, here am I!"

"Where are you, Mehetabel?" came the question through the silvery
haze and the twinkling willow-shoots.

"Answer him, by Thor's Stone," said Jonas.

Again she hesitated and passed her hand over her face.

"Answer him," whispered Jonas. "If you are true, do as I say. If
false, be silent."

"By Thor's Stone," called Mehetabel.

Then all the sound heard was that of the young man brushing his
way through the rushes and willow boughs.

In the terror, the agony overmastering her, she had lost all
independent power of will. She was as a piece of mechanism in the
hands of Jonas. His strong, masterful mind dominated her, beat
down for a time all opposition. She knew that to summon Iver was
to call him to a fearful struggle, perhaps to his death, and yet
the faculty of resistance was momentarily gone from her. She tried
to collect her thoughts. She could not. She strove to think what
she ought to do, she was unable to frame a thought in her mind
that whirled and reeled.

Bideabout stooped and picked up a gun he had been carrying, and
had dropped on the turf when he laid hold of his wife.

Now he placed the barrel across the anvil stone, with the muzzle
directed whence came the sound of the advance of Iver.

Jonas went behind the stone and bent one knee to the ground.

Mehetabel heard the click as he spanned the trigger.

"Stand on one side," said Jonas, in a low tone, in which were
mingled rage and exultation. "Call him again."

She was silent. Lest she should speak she pressed both her hands
to her mouth.

"Call him again," said Jonas. "I will receive him with a dab of
lead in his heart."

She would not call.

"On your obedience and truth, of which you vaunt," persisted Jonas.

Should she utter a cry of warning? Would he comprehend? Would that
arrest him, make him retrace his steps, escape what menaced?

Whether she cried or not he would come on. He knew Thor's Stone
as well as she. They had often visited it together as children.