out. ...  Kells forced me into these bandit clothes.  He’s depraved, somehow.  And I had to wear something.  Kells hasn’t harmed me—­no one has.  I’ve influence over him.  He can’t resist it.  He’s tried to force me to marry him.  And he’s tried to give up to his evil intentions.  But he can’t.  There’s good in him.  I can make him feel it. ...  Oh, he loves me, and I’m not afraid of him any more. ...  It has been a terrible time for me, Jim, but I’m still—­the same girl you knew—­you used to—­”

Cleve dropped the gun and he waved his hand before his eyes as if to dispel a blindness.

“But why—­why?” he asked, incredulously.  “Why did you leave Hoadley?  That’s forbidden.  You knew the risk.”

Joan gazed steadily up at him, to see the whiteness slowly fade out of his face.  She had imagined it would be an overcoming of pride to betray her love, but she had been wrong.  The moment was so full, so overpowering, that she seemed dumb.  He had ruined himself for her, and out of that ruin had come the glory of her love.  Perhaps it was all too late, but at least he would know that for love of him she had in turn sacrificed herself.

“Jim,” she whispered, and with the first word of that betrayal a thrill, a tremble, a rush went over her, and all her blood seemed hot at her neck and face, “that night when you kissed me I was furious.  But the moment you had gone I repented.  I must have—­cared for you then, but I didn’t know. ...  Remorse seized me.  And I set out on your trail to save you from yourself.  And with the pain and fear and terror there was sometimes—­the—­the sweetness of your kisses.  Then I knew I cared. ...  And with the added days of suspense and agony—­all that told me of your throwing your life away—­there came love. ...  Such love as otherwise I’d never have been big enough for!  I meant to find you—­to save you—­to send you home! ...  I have found you, maybe too late to save your life, but not your soul, thank God! ...  That’s why I’ve been strong enough to hold back Kells.  I love you, Jim! ...  I love you!  I couldn’t tell you enough.  My heart is bursting. ...  Say you believe me!  Say you know I’m good—­true to you—­your Joan! ...  And kiss me—­like you did that night when we were such blind fools.  A boy and a girl who didn’t know—­and couldn’t tell!—­Oh, the sadness of it! . ...  Kiss me, Jim, before I—­drop—­at your feet! ...  If only you—­believe—­”

Joan was blinded by tears and whispering she knew not what when Cleve broke from his trance and caught her to his breast.  She was fainting—­hovering at the border of unconsciousness when his violence held her back from oblivion.  She seemed wrapped to him and held so tightly there was no breath in her body, no motion, no stir of pulse.  That vague, dreamy moment passed.  She heard his husky, broken accents—­she felt the pound of his heart against her breast.  And he began to kiss her as she had begged him to.  She quickened to thrilling, revivifying life.  And she lifted her face, and clung round his neck, and kissed him, blindly, sweetly, passionately, with all her heart and soul in her lips, wanting only one thing in the world—­to give that which she had denied him.