But suddenly he seems to Erma to grow taller and tower over her, and he shakes his head and brushes his hair back from his brow, as if he were a fevered lion, and cries hoarsely: "This must not be! Men in the West do not take money from women!"
"But you need it. What is it to me? A few gewgaws, and jewels, and dresses, and I have more of them than I want. Take it to regain your own—to smite down this wretch Tranyon—then repay it to me."
"No, that is impossible," he answers, slowly. "This money shall be returned to you before bank hours this afternoon. But the good will that prompted it—I'll keep that, if you please, until I die." And supreme gratitude and undying love also are in his eyes, for he cannot keep them from speaking, though he may, perchance, control his tongue.
"But you need it. You must take it. It is necessary for your success," gasps the girl.
"I cannot take it, but I will succeed without it," he cries. "I cannot afford to lose. I must win! It is not money I am fighting for, but——"
"What?"
"What I will never tell you till I have money enough to prevent men calling me an adventurer—a fortune hunter—if I win it." And his eyes speaking to her again, she knows what he means.
A moment after, she turns to him, and says considerately:
"If I cannot aid you in this way I can in another, which I hope you will accept. My father will be here this evening. He is a very rich man. He will be more than happy to go upon your bond, to raise the injunction, which, I understand, has crippled you."
"No," says Harry, curtly. "No favors from your father of such financial magnitude."