"I'm a liar, am I?" he snarled.

"I--I don't believe he ever said it," she said stubbornly.

"Well,--you're right," he admitted, after a moment's hesitation.

"Not in so many words. But he did say to me that he had told you he saw no reason why you shouldn't marry me if you wanted to. Did he ever tell you that?"

She remembered only too well the aggravating encounter in the thicket path.

"Yes, he did," she replied, lifting her head defiantly. "And," she added, "I hated him for it. I hate him more and more every time I think of it. He--he was perfectly abominable."

"Well, you're--you're d.a.m.ned complimentary," he grated, his face expressing the utmost bewilderment.

She walked on for eight or ten paces before speaking again. Her head was lowered. She knew that he was glaring at the wing of the bonnet which shielded her whitening cheek. Suddenly she turned to him.

"Barry, let's sit down on that log over there for a few minutes.

There is something I've got to say to you,--and I'm sorry. You must not be angry with me. Won't you come over there with me,--and listen to what I have to tell you?"

He hung back for a moment, his intuition grasping at something vague and yet strangely definite.

"You--you are going to tell me it's all over between us, Viola?"

he ventured, going white to the lips. He was as sober now as though he had never touched liquor in his life.

"Come and sit down," she said gently, even compa.s.sionately.

He followed her in silence to the log she had indicated, a few rods back from the roadside at the edge of the clearing. He sat down beside her and waited for her to speak, and as she remained speechless, evidently in distress, his lips curled in a smile of reviving confidence. He watched the quick rise and fall of her bosom, exulting in her difficulty. Birds were piping among the fresh green twigs overhead. The air was redolent of the soft fragrance of May: the smell of the soil, the subtle perfume of unborn flowers, the tang of the journeying breeze, the spice of sap-sweating trees.

The radiance of a warm, gracious sun lay soft upon the land.

At last she spoke, not tremulously as he had expected but with a firmness that boded ill for his composure.

"Barry," she began, still staring straight ahead, "I don't know just how to begin. It is awfully hard to--to say what I feel I must say. Perhaps I should have waited till--well, till you were home for a little while,--before doing what I have made up my mind to do. But I thought it right to have it over with as soon as possible."

She paused for a moment and then resolutely faced him. He saw the pain in her dark, troubled eyes, and the shadow of an appealing smile on her lips. His face hardened.

"So," she went on unflinchingly, "I came down to the landing to meet you in case you were on the Paul Revere. I cannot marry you, Barry. I--I don't love you as I should. I thought I did but--but--well, that's all. I don't know what has happened to make me see things so differently, but whatever it is I know now that I was mistaken,--oh, so terribly mistaken. I know I am hurting you, Barry,--and you have a right to despise me. I--I somehow hope you will,--because I deserve it."

He smiled indulgently. "I hope you don't think I am taking this seriously. This isn't the first time I've heard you take on like--"

"But I mean it this time, Barry,--I do truly and honestly," she cried. "I know I've played hot and cold with you,--and that's just the point. It proves that I never really cared for you in--in that way--down in my soul, I mean. I am sure of it now. I have been dreadfully unhappy about it,--because, Barry dear, I can't bear to hurt you. We are not suited to each other. We think differently about a great many things. We--"

"Look here," he exclaimed roughly, no longer able to disguise his anger; "you've got to stop this everlasting--"

"Let go of my arm, Barry Lapelle!" she cried. "Don't you dare lay your hand on me like that!"

He loosened his grip on her arm and drew back sulkily. "Ah,--I didn't mean to hurt you and you know it. I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world. I'm sorry if I was rough with--"

"I don't blame you," she broke in, contritely. "I guess it would serve me right if you beat me black and blue."

"What I was going to say," he growled, controlling himself with difficulty, "is this: if you think I'm going to take this as final, you're very much mistaken. You'll get over this, just as you've gotten over your peevishness before. I've spoiled you, that's the truth of the matter. I always give in to you--"

"I tell you I am in earnest," she cried hotly. "This is for good and all,--and you make me furious when you talk like that. I am doing my best to be kind and considerate, so you'd better be careful, Barry Lapelle, not to say too much."

He looked into her flaming eyes for a moment and then muttered slowly, wonderingly: "By heaven, Viola, I believe you DO mean it.

You--you are actually throwing me over,--giving me the mitten?"

"I can't help it, Barry," she insisted. "Something,--I don't know what,--has come over me. Nothing seems to be the same as it used to be. I only know that I cannot bear the thought of--why, Barry dear, for the past three or four nights I've lain awake for hours thinking of the awful consequences if we had succeeded in making our escape that night, and had been married as we planned. How terrible it would have been if I had found out too late that I did not love you,--and we were tied to each other for life. For your sake as well as my own, Barry. Can you imagine anything more horrible than to be married to a woman who--who didn't love you?"

"Yes," he snapped, "I can. It's worse a thousand times over not to be married to the girl you love,--and to see her married to some one else. That would be h.e.l.l,--h.e.l.l, do you understand?"

She drew a little away from him. "But not the h.e.l.l it would be for me when I found out--too late. Won't you understand, Barry? Can't you see how terrible it would be?"

"Say, when did you get this idea into your head?" he demanded harshly. "What put it there? You were loving me hard enough a while ago,--couldn't get along without me, you claimed. Now you're singing another tune. Look here! Is--is there some one else?"

"You know there isn't," she cried indignantly. "Who else could there be? Don't be foolish, Barry."

"By G.o.d, if some one else has cut me out, I'll--I'll--"

"There is no one else, I tell you! I don't love anybody,--I swear it."

He eyed her narrowly. "Has Kenny Gwynne anything to do with all this?"

She started. "Kenny? Why,--no,--of course not. What on earth could he have to do with my loving or not loving you?"

"It would be just like him to turn you against me because he thinks I'm not fit to--Say, if I find out that he's been sticking his nose into my affairs, I'll make it so hot for him,--brother or no brother,--that he'll wish he'd never been born. Wait a minute!

I'll tell you what I think of him while I'm about it--and you can run and tell him as quick as you please. He's a G-- d---- snake in the gra.s.s, that's what he is. He's a conceited, sanctimonious, white-livered--"

"Stop that!" she cried, springing to her feet, white with fury, her eyes blazing. "You are forgetting yourself, Barry Lapelle. Not another word! How dare you speak like that about my brother?"

He sat staring up at her in a sort of stupefaction.

"How dare you?" she repeated furiously.

He found his voice. "You weren't sticking up for him this time last week," he sneered. "You were hating him like poison. Has the old woman had a change of heart, too? Is she letting him sit in her lap so's she can feed him with a spoon when he's hungry and--"

"I wouldn't marry you if you were the only man in the world, Barry Lapelle," said she, her voice low with pa.s.sion.

She whirled and walked rapidly away from him, her head in the air, her hands clenched. Leaping to his feet, he started after her, calling:

"Wait a minute, Viola! Can't you see I'm almost out of my head over what you've--Oh, well, go it! I'm not going to CRAWL after you!

But let me tell you one thing, my girl. You'll be talking out of the other side of your mouth before you're much older. You'll be down on your knees--"

"Don't you follow me another step!" she cried over her shoulder.

He was not more than two yards behind her when she uttered this withering command. He stopped short in his tracks.

"Well, this is a h.e.l.l of a way to treat a gentleman!" he shouted, hoa.r.s.e with fury.