Through the silence that followed, from far out on the pike, a sound of galloping horses faintly reached their ears. Each stood for a moment listening, and then suddenly she flew at him.
"Dale, run for it! Out the back way, and I'll help you! Go far, anywhere, Dale, and make good—but escape! When it's safe for you to come back I'll send word—but hurry! Hurry! They're almost at the lane!"
"I can't go," he said, smiling at her, "till you're paid up—drop of blood for drop of blood!"
A cry burst from her lips—a cry exquisite of all her mental agony. He could not resist it, and his hand went quickly to her shoulder.
"Don't—oh, don't touch me!" she implored him. "Listen, only listen! I'm half crazed by everything, and this is the last, the very last time I'll have a chance to speak to you for—who can tell? So listen! I want you to go, at once—fly now! You can take any of the horses—reach the mountains and hide! I'll send you things—anything! Don't make me suffer," she fairly screamed at him, "but go! Oh, what crucifixion I've brought you to! Great God above, what crucifixion—and after you have done so wonderfully well! Spare me, Dale, I can't endure it! Your life must not go out, and suddenly lose its purpose, because of a human vengeance that is worthless!"
He spoke more hurriedly, for the horsemen were in the lane and coming fast:
"Nothing is worthless that calls a man to do his duty like a man! An' I'd be worse'n a coward to turn back from a duty to the very person who's taught me what duty is!"
"But think—think," she urged, "of the good there is in you to help that great mankind whose voice you say you've heard! All of that good will be—choked out," she shuddered, "or rot in those gray walls you dread!"
He looked toward the gate, through which the sheriff now might dash at any moment. She saw in his face the terrible dread of that alternative and, to help him win the way she wished, grasped his arm. But slowly his eyes turned back, moving affectionately across the rows of books lining the walls, and, as though echoing impressions gathered from their great storehouse, he whispered:
"What good there is in a man is there to stay. God, Himself, couldn't take it out. It's only wickedness that twists it in a different shape, and makes people think it never was! Do you reckon your good'll go when you die?"