If she had looked at him she would have seen that his face wore a dull red flush in the white moonlight.
“You shall never leave this spot until you have promised to marry me, Jess, or have looked upon your work, if you persist in refusing me.”
And as he spoke, he sprang into the path before her, barring her exit to the main road, and at the same time seizing her wrist in a steel-like grasp.
Jess was no coward. This action aroused all the girl’s spirit of angry resentment.
“Stand aside and allow me to pass, Mr. Dinsmore!” she cried. “How dare you attempt to bar my way! Another moment of this, and I shall hate you instead of being merely indifferent to you.”
For answer he drew from his breast pocket a small, silver-mounted revolver and placed the muzzle of it against his temple.
“Is your answer to be yes or no, Jess?” he said, hoarsely. “Promise to marry me and you save my life; refuse, and I fire. I love you too well to lose you. I give you while I count five to reach a conclusion.”
“How dare you threaten me in this way?” panted the girl.
“Is it yes—or—no?” he questioned, stolidly.
Terror, for the first time in her young life, robbed Jess of all power of speech, and like one in a trance she heard him call out hoarsely: