“I did not offer charity,” he said, direct and forthright. “While I was persuading you to that, Nita wove her devilry into it all.”
“What devilry?” she asked, her eyes grave and questioning.
He glanced from the shattered casement to Donald’s death-bed, and his face hardened.
“She offered me escape from what has come to Logie—and I would not take it.”
Causleen’s heart was free at last, as she watched this man whom she had flouted. He showed greater than his height in the dim lamp-glow that made flickering lights and shadows through the room. His voice though hushed in deference to what lay yonder, was vibrant in its simple candour. He loved her—loved her for herself.
A gusty weariness came about her, a need to lean on the man who had caused her sleepless nights and tears as salt as the nether brine-pits.
“I was afraid—till now,” she whispered, and put her hands into his as if she gave a kingdom.
CHAPTER XVIII
THE RESTLESS DAWN
As they stood there, a stifled bark sounded from the doorway. Storm, his grizzled hide quivering with eagerness, came sidling in. Fire and gunshot and the night’s swift happenings had opened the windows through which dogs and horses see things hidden from most men.