With that, he went leaping down the steep path at breakneck speed.
“Stop your screaming!” roughly commanded a voice. “I won’t hurt you, you little fool! But I am going to kiss you, and you can’t stop me, for I know old Barnaby is away. I saw him row off in his boat.”
“Help—help! Kate!” cried the appealing voice of the girl from the midst of the trees back of the old house.
These voices served to guide Frank. He left the path and rushed toward the spot from whence the frightened appeal came, his feet making very little noise on the grass.
In a moment he came upon a spectacle that fired his heart with the greatest rage.
A girl with golden hair was struggling in the arms of a young fellow, who was doing his best to hold her while he pressed a kiss upon her unwilling lips.
And that young fellow was Rolf Harlow!
Frank recognized his enemy at a glance, and the sight of the fellow added to the consuming fury burning in his breast.
By brute strength, Harlow overcame the girl, and, as he held her helpless in his arms, he laughed triumphantly, crying:
“What’s the use to make so much fuss! I won’t hurt you. I was stuck on you the first time I saw you, my little peach, and I made a bet that I’d kiss you within two days. I must do the job now, or lose my bet.”