"You must not! You shall not! Or if you do I am coming with you. You—you are not going alone."
"I am going alone," Nap said; but he stood still, facing her, watching her as he had watched her on that day long ago when he had lain helpless in her arms in the snow, the day that revelation had first come to her shrinking heart. "I am going alone," he repeated very deliberately. "And you will wait here till I come back."
She felt that he was putting forth his strength to compel her, and something within her warned her that he was stronger in that moment than she. She did not understand his ascendency over her, but she could not help being aware of it. Her agitated hold upon his arm began to slacken.
"Oh, don't go!" she entreated weakly. "Please don't go! I can't bear it. It—it's too much. Nap, if—if any harm comes to you, I—I think it will kill me."
There came a sudden gleam in his sombre eyes that seemed to stab her, but it was gone instantly, before he spoke in answer.
"Lady Carfax, you are not foolish—you are sublime! But—be wise as well." Very quietly he extricated his arm from her clinging hands and turned to go. "Don't watch me," he said. "Go on to the bridge and wait for me there."
He was gone. Blindly she obeyed him; blindly she moved towards the bridge that spanned the stream. She was trembling so much that she could hardly walk, but almost mechanically she urged herself on. No other course was open to her.
She reached the bridge, and leaned upon the handrail. She thought the beating of her heart would suffocate her. She strained her ears to listen, but she could hear nought else; and for a time she actually lacked the physical strength to turn and look.
At last, after the passage of many minutes, she summoned her sinking courage. Faint and dizzy still, she managed to raise her head. The moonlight danced in her eyes, but with immense effort she compelled herself to look back.
The next instant utter amazement seized and possessed her, dominating her fear. Nap was standing just beyond the outspreading boughs of the cedar, a straight relentless figure, with the arrogance of complete mastery in every line, while at his feet grovelled and whimpered the great half-breed, Tawny Hudson.