"Don't you know what I'm
trying to tell you?" he whispered. Betty gathered up her reins.
"Not yet--" he cried, and again he rested a heavy hand on hers.
"Don't you know what's kept me here? It was to be near you--only
that--I've been waiting for this chance to speak. It was long in
coming, but it's here now--and it's mine!" he exulted. His eyes
burned with a luminous fire, he urged his horse nearer and they
came to a halt. "Look here--I'll follow you North--I swear I
love you--say I may!"
"Let me go--let me go!" cried Betty indignantly.
"No--not yet!" he urged his horse still nearer and gathered her
close. "You've got to hear me. I've loved you since the first
moment I rested my eyes on you--and, by God, you shall love me in
return!" He felt her struggle to free herself from his grasp
with a sense of savage triumph. It was the brute force within
him that conquered with women just as it conquered with men.
Bruce Carrington, on his way back to Fayetteville from the Forks,
came about a turn in the road. Betty saw a tall, handsome fellow
in the first flush of manhood; Carrington, an angry girl, very
beautiful and very indignant, struggling in a man's grasp.
At sight of the new-comer, Murrell, with an oath, released Betty,
who, striking her horse with the whip galloped down the road
toward the Barony. As she fled past Carrington she bent low in
her saddle.
"Don't let him follow me!" she gasped, and Carrington, striding
forward, caught Murrell's horse by the bit.
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