“I’m not worrying about what you are,” said Loseis. “My heart tells me. For myself, I care nothing about the fur. It was my father’s. I would feel that I had been false to him, if I let Gault fool me out of it. I could never respect myself. I am Blackburn’s daughter. I cannot allow the name of Blackburn to become a joke in the country.”
“I’m only a tail to the Blackburn kite,” grumbled Conacher.
Loseis laughed a little, and pressed him close. “I shall make it up to you,” she whispered. “You shall be my lord and master. Isn’t that enough?”
“That makes me feel worse,” he said. “I’m not worthy. . . .”
Loseis put a loving hand over his mouth. “Enough of that talk,” she said. “You love me, don’t you?”
“Until death,” he murmured.
“Me too, until death,” she whispered passionately. “That makes us equal. This talk of fortunes and worthiness is less than nothing. . . . Now you must go.”
“They ride so slowly,” pleaded Conacher.
“Get on your horse, dearest; I must not be seen returning to-day.”
Conacher obeyed with a heavy heart. He leaned out of the saddle for a final embrace. They clung together.