h a toss of her head that ignored the visitor, passed around
the house to the rear.

Dorothy's right hand, armed with the blade, rested inconspicuously under
her apron, but the glitter in her eyes was unconcealed and to Bas, who
smiled indulgently at her arming, she gave the brief command, "Come out
hyar under ther tree whar Elviry won't hear us."

Curious and somewhat mystified at the transformation from helplessness
to aggression of bearing the man followed her and as she wheeled to face
him with her left hand groping against the bark, he dropped down into
the grass with insolent mockery in his face and sat cross-legged,
looking up at her.

"Ef I'd hed this knife a minute ago," she began in a low voice,
throbbing like a muffled engine, "I'd hev cut yore heart out. Now I've
decided not ter do hit--jest yit."

"Would ye ruther wait an' let ther man with siv'ral diff'rent names
ondertake hit fer ye?" he queried, mockingly, and Dorothy Thornton shook
her head.

"No, I wouldn't hev him dirty his hands with no sich job," she answered
with icy disdain. "Albeit he'd t'ar hit out with his bare fingers, I
reckon--ef he knowed."

Bas Rowlett's swarthy face stiffened and his teeth bared themselves in
a snarl of hurt vanity, but as he started to speak he changed his mind
and sat for a while silent, watching the splendid figure she made as she
leaned against the tree with a breast rising and falling to the storm
tide of her indignation.

Rowlett's thoughts had been active in these minutes since the craters of
his sensuous nature had burst into eruption, and already he was cursing
himself for a fool who had prematurely revealed his hand.

"Dorothy," he began, slowly, and a self-abasing pretence of penitence
sounded through his words, "my reason plum left me a while ago an' I was
p'int blank crazed fer a spell. I've got ter crave yore pardon right
humbly--but I reckon ye don't begin ter know how much I loves ye."

"How much ye loves me!" She echoed the words with a scorn so
incandescent that he winced. "Love's an honest thing, an' ye hain't
nuver knowed ther meanin' of honesty!"

"Ye've got a right good license ter git mad with me, Dorothy," he made
generous concession, "an' I wouldn't esteem ye ef ye hedn't done
hit--but afore ye lets thet wrath settle inter a fixed hate ye ought ter
think of somethin' ye've done fergot."

He paused but received no invitation to present his plea in extenuation,
so he proceeded without