“I do, under the circumstances—for you; not for Wash Still.”
“The gorgon will refuse me——”
“Probably—All the same, you have to do it.”
Suddenly, with a sigh, Steve came out of his reverie as if he were emerging from a cloud. His countenance cleared up and he spoke with decision.
“You are right. I knew you were right all the time. But I did not want to do it. I will, though. I’ll do it if I lose her.” He turned to go out.
“When are you going to do it?”
“Right now.” In the presence of contest Steve’s face had got back all its fire, his voice all its ring.
“I believe you’ll win her,” said Jacquelin.
“I know I shall, some day,” said Steve. And a little later Jacquelin heard him in his room, whistling “Bonny Dundee,” and calling to Jerry to saddle his horse.
Major Welch was sitting on his veranda that afternoon about sunset when a rider came out of the woods far below, at a gallop, and continued to gallop all the way up the hill. There was something about a rapid gallop up hill and down that always bore Major Welch’s mind back to the war. As the horseman came nearer, Major Welch recognized Captain Allen. He remembered the advice Still had recently given him, always to have a pistol handy when he met Allen. He put the thought away from him with almost a flush of shame that it should even have crossed his mind. Should he meet a man at his own door, with a weapon? Not if he was shot down for it. So, as the rider approached, Major Welch walked down to meet him at the gate, just as Steve, dismounting, tied his horse.