“Oh, you mustn't,” she begged. “You MUSTN'T.”
“You've grown so close,” he cried. “So close!” She struggled to be free. He did not heed her. “You know—you must know what I mean.” He drew her toward him and forced her into his arms. “You're more precious to me than all else on this earth.”
For the first time he saw the extreme pallor on her face. He felt her growing limp and lifeless in his arms. A doubt crossed his mind. “If I am wrong in thinking you feel as I do, if you honestly care for all this,” he glanced about at the tents, “more than for any life that I can give you, I shan't interfere. You'll be going on your way in an hour. I'll say good-bye and God bless you; but if you do care for me, Polly,” he was pleading now, “if you're NOT happy here—won't you come back to me? Won't you, Polly?”
She dared not meet his eyes, nor yet to send him away. She stood irresolute. The voice of Deacon Strong answered for her.
“So! You're HERE, are you?”
“Yes, Deacon Strong, I'm here,” answered the pastor, as he turned to meet the accusing eyes of the deacon, who had come quickly from behind the dressing tent.
“As for you, miss,” continued Strong, with an insolent nod toward Polly, “I might have known how you'd keep your part of the bargain.”
“Bargain?” echoed Douglas. “What bargain?”
“Oh, please, Deacon Strong, please. I didn't mean to see him, I didn't, truly.” She hardly knew what she was saying.
“What bargain?” demanded Douglas sternly.