“Girl––thank the good God you’re all right,” he said, and took her in his arms, the veins on his temples beating full with his hot blood. “I had to come. I had to see you. You’ve haunted me. Your voice has called me––I was afraid––I had to come––and now I’m not going to let you go. Oh, girl, you’re mine! By all the powers of heaven and earth, you’re mine! The Lorrigan name––what does it matter? You’re mine––I love you. You’ll love me. I’ll make you love me. You’ll love me till you won’t care who I am or who you are, or whether there are any other people in 303 the world––you’ll love me so! And I’ll love you always, always,––to death and beyond, and beyond what lies after that. Girl, girl––you do need me! You need my love. You need it because it’s the biggest thing in the world––and your love is going to match it. We’ll get married––we’ll make a world of our own, just you and I. We won’t care where we make it––it will be our world, the world of our love. Are you game? Are you game to love Lance the way Lance loves you? Oh, girl, tell me!”
A chill breath swept them like the memory of her father’s hate. A deep, basso rumble drowned whatever reply she stammered. He sheltered her in his arms, kissed her lips, her eyes, her hair, went back to her lips again.
“Oh, girl––when a Lorrigan loves––!” He cried softly, exultantly. “I tried not to––but I had to love you. It’s Fate. Are you afraid to love me back? Are you afraid?”
“No Lorrigan can cry coward to a Douglas,” Mary Hope panted. “But––but my mother will be that––”
“My mother will be that––all of that, and more,” Lance stopped her, still exulting in her love. “All the Lorrigans––what does it matter? Life’s for you and me to live, you girl with the bluest eyes in the world. When will you marry me? To-day? Tell me to-day!”
“Oh!” gasped Mary Hope, breathless still from 304 the suddenness of it all. “Oh, not to-day––oh, but the headlong way you have! I––I canna think. I––”
“I don’t want you to think. I didn’t ask you to think. Just love me––that’s all. And marry me soon, Girl-with-the-blue-eyes. Soon. It must be soon––sooner than to-morrow––”
Splittingly the thunder crashed close behind them, a vivid white line cleaving sharply the snarling clouds. Like a sleeper Lance opened the eyes he had closed against her hair and lifted his head. “I must take you home,” he said more calmly. “It’s going to storm––hard. But let me tell you, sweetheart,––it can’t storm as hard as I can love. I’ll take you home, and then you’ll marry me.”
Mary Hope’s face was pale and radiant. She did not say that she would marry him––nor did she say that she would not. Her eyes were misty with tears until she winked hard, when they shone softly. Lance had never seen them so blue. She stood still, her hands clasped together tightly while he gathered up the reins and mounted. He pulled his foot from the left stirrup, reached down to her and smiled. Never had she seen him smile like that. Never had she seen that look in his eyes. She breathed deep, reached up and caught the saddle horn, put her foot in the stirrup and let him lift her beside him.
Against Coaley’s nervous pull at the bit Lance 305 held a steadying hand and laughed. “It’s Fate, girl. Let the storm come. We’ll beat it––it can’t hurt us. Nothing can hurt us now.” He had to shout above the crashing thunder. “Do you love me, sweetheart?” His eyes, close to her own, flamed softly, making Mary Hope think dizzily of altar fires.