“Father says you are to leave this house to-day. Afterward you will be turned off the ranch. It is only through the sheriff backing the doctor’s orders that you were not turned out of here before.”
Tresler made no response for a moment. Then he burst out into a hard, mirthless laugh.
“So!” he exclaimed, his laugh dying abruptly. “Listen to me. Your father can turn me out of this house—though I’ll save him that trouble—but he can’t turn me off this ranch. My residence here is bought and paid for for three years. The agreement is signed and sealed. No, no, let him try another bluff.” Then his manner changed to one of gentle persuasion. “But you have not come to the real reason, little one. Out with it. It is a bitter plum, I can tell. Something which makes you dread not only its consequences, but—something else. Tell it me, Danny. Whatever it is you may be sure of me. My love for you is unalterable. Believe me, nothing shall come between us.”
His voice was infinitely tender, and its effect on Diane was to set two great tears rolling down her cheeks as she listened. He had driven her to a corner, and there was no escape. But even so she made one more effort to avoid her shameful disclosure.
“Will—will you not take me at my word, Jack?” she asked imploringly.
“Not in this, dearest,” he replied.
He spoke inexorably, but with such a world of love in his voice that the long-pent tears came with a rush. He let her weep. He felt it would do her good. And, after a while, when her sobs had ceased, he urged her again.
“Tell me,” he whispered.
“I——”