“The White Dove should not fear me, for I will guard and protect her with my life. I will face any peril in defense of her.”
He took a step toward her, but she drew back, flinging out her hand.
“Stop!” she gasped. “Please—please don’t touch me! I want to talk to you—I wish to beg you to be merciful and take me back to those from whom you carried me away!”
He folded his arms and looked at her in silence. It was an unconscious pose, and never had he looked handsomer than at that moment. After a little silence he spoke:
“Why should I take you back?” he asked. “I love you, and I want you for my mate. You shall be my mate. You shall be my wife, White Dove. We will live together in some beautiful valley, far away from all the world—live in a little nest that I will find for you. The sunny days will glide by like a soft-floating stream, and every starry night shall be a dream of happiness.”
“No! no! no!” she cried, with her hands outflung. “That could not be!”
“Why not?”
“Because—oh, because!”
“White Dove, don’t you love me?”
“No! no! no!”