“But—what if I have killed a man?”
“What if you have killed twenty men? Some people have, and they brag about it.”
He looked hard at her.
“Yes; but what if I have—what the law calls—committed murder?”
Now she looked hard at him, then shook her head.
“You have not murdered me—nor father.”
There spake the natural woman in Verna Halse. He had not injured her or hers, consequently who ever this man had injured it was nothing to her. In all probability he was justified in so doing, certainly was, in that in her eyes he could do no wrong.
“But do you quite understand, Verna?” he said gently. “I am in danger of—of the rope.”
“Are you? Well, we shall make it our particular business to see that that danger passes off. Why, there are places about here where you could hide for years. Listen, Alaric”—suddenly waxing grave, while a passion of tenderness came into her voice—“You saw fit, goodness knows why, to love me. Do you think, then, I am going to shrink from you because you are in a difficulty? I am only an ignorant sort of girl, but I have seen something of one side of life, at any rate, and the power does not exist—law or anything else—that shall take you from me. But, tell me all about it.”
“I will, Verna. You remember the first time we came to this spot, and I was telling you things? I said there was one thing I hadn’t told you, but that I might some day. This was it.”