His fingers worked nervously at his sides.  Gloria chose the moment to lift her eyes again fleetingly to King’s.  She wanted Gratton to see, she wanted to hurt him all that she could.  She looked back to see him wince.  Nor did his quick contraction of the brows result from her glance alone; he had seen the look lying unhidden in King’s eyes.  Mark King had to-night, for the first time, swept barriers aside and looked straight into his own heart and known that all of the love that was in him to give had been given to Gloria Gaynor; he had come from Jim’s cabin to look on her for the last time; he was giving her up.  And then, when he had turned away rather than hear her murmur “Yes,” she had cried out ringingly:  “No!” The sod had not fallen upon a beloved face; death had not entered the door; life was not extinguished—­where there was life invariably there was hope—­he had given Gloria up, yes; but she had come back from beyond the frontier, she had come calling to him.  He was certain of nothing just now beyond the tremendous, all-excluding fact that, wise or fool, he loved her.  He wanted her with a want that is greater than hunger or thirst, or love of man for man or of man for life itself.  Much of this lay shining in his eyes for Gratton to read—­or for Gloria.

“I am no boy to be thrown aside like an old glove,” cried Gratton, beside himself, shaken with jealous fury.  “You have promised; you have loved me; in your heart you love me now.  Shall I stand back for a girl’s nervous whim?  I tell you, you shall marry me.”

Gloria’s laughter, cool and insolent, maddened him.  He clenched his hands and was swept away by his passion to gusty vehemence: 

“Think before you laugh!  What if, instead of doing the gentlemanly thing, I refused to marry you?  Alone with me all this time; all last night; a clerk to swear I bought clothing for you; a register to show where we engaged a room as man and wife; the San Francisco papers already bandying your name about, already nosing after scandal.  You’ve got to marry me; there is nothing else for you to do!”

Gloria flushed hotly.  But only in anger this time.  King mystified, looking from one to the other, turned at last to Gloria and muttered: 

“For God’s sake let me throw him out of the door!”

“I think it might be best first,” she answered quietly, “if Mr. Gratton remained long enough to understand that this is the last time I shall ever speak to him or listen to a word from him.  He has tried to get me into a nasty situation; he will do all that he can to promote scandal.  But I want him to know that he will, in the end of it all, have my father to reckon with—­and my friends.”  Again she looked swiftly at King and again Gratton writhed at the look.  “Papa will not be here to-night; he is hurt and in Coloma, and I’ll give you his message soon.  But——­”

“You saw your father!  In Coloma!” It was a gasp of astonishment from Gratton.  “You said nothing.  You brought a message to King here?”