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“What a dreadful place!” she said.

“It’s the only way out,” said Warden, “unless we tramp underground nearly half-way to Wallacetown!”

“Can’t we go back?” she said, nervously.

“What! Afraid?” He gave her hand a sudden squeeze.

She looked at him and caught the blue fire of his eyes as he bent towards her. Something moved her, she knew not what. She surrendered herself to him without a word.

Once more she hung upon his shoulder, clinging desperately, while he made that perilous ascent. He went up with amazing agility, as if he were entirely unencumbered. She felt the strength of his great frame beneath her, and marvelled. Again the magnetic force of the man possessed her, stilling all fear. She shut her eyes dizzily, but she was not afraid.

When she looked up again they were in the open. He had set her on her feet, and she stood on the rugged side of a mountain where no vestige of a path or any habitation showed in any direction. For the first time he had relinquished all hold upon her, and stood apart, almost as if he would turn and leave her.

The brief twilight was upon them. It was as if dark wings were folding them round. A small chill wind was wandering to and fro. She shivered involuntarily. It sounded like the whispering of an evil spirit. The fear she had kept at bay for so long laid clammy hands upon her.

Instinctively she turned to the man for protection. “How shall we get away?” she said.

He moved sharply, so sharply that for a single moment she thought that something had angered him. And then–all in one single blinding instant–she realized that which no words could utter. For he caught her swiftly to him, lifting her off her feet, and very suddenly he covered her face and neck and throat with hot, devouring kisses–kisses that electrified her–kisses that seemed to scorch and blister–yet to fill her with a pulsing rapture that was almost too great to endure.

She tried to hide her face from him, but she could not; to protest, but his lips stopped the words upon her own. She was powerless–and very deep down within her there leaped a wild thing that rejoiced–that exulted–in her powerlessness.

The fierce storm spent itself. There came a pause during which she lay palpitating against his breast while his cheek pressed hers in a stillness that was in a fashion more compelling than even those burning kisses had been.

He spoke to her at last, and his voice was deep and tender, throbbing with that which was beyond utterance.

“You love me, little new chum,” he said.

There was no question in his words. She quivered, and made no answer. That headlong outburst of passion had overwhelmed her utterly. She was as drift upon the tide.

He drew a great heaving breath, and clasped her closer. His words fell hot upon her face. “You are mine! Why shouldn’t I keep you? Fate has given you to me. I’d be a fool to let you go again.”

But something–some inner impulse that had been stunned to impotence by his violence–stirred within her at his words and awoke. Yet it was scarcely of her own volition that she answered him. “I am–not–yours.”

Very faintly the words came from her trembling lips, but the utterance of them gave her new strength. She moved at last in his hold. She turned her face away from him.

“What do you mean?” He spoke in a fierce whisper, but–she felt it instinctively–there was less of assurance in his hold. It was that that added to her strength, but she offered no active resistance, realizing wherein lay his weakness–and her own.

“I mean,” she said, and though it still trembled beyond her control, her voice gathered confidence with the words, “that by taking me–by keeping me–you are taking–keeping–what is not your own.”

“Love gives me the right,” he asserted, swiftly–“your love–and mine.”

But the clearer vision had come to her. She shook her head against his shoulder. “No–no! That is wrong. That is not–the greater love.”