“So am I,” her parent answered, moodily. “Girl, get you in. You shall wed Joseph, as I am your father.”
“I would not have it so,” said Joseph. “I marry no unwilling wife. But him—let him take care!”
“What would you do?” she half-screamed.
“Murder! You have described the feelings of my heart. If he cross not my path, well—he is safe. But, if I meet him, God do so to me, and more also, if both leave the ground alive!”
“He is mad,” she said.
“You have made me so—you, with your accursed beauty. Blame that, and nothing more.”
“Get you in, I say,” cried Van Curter. “Do you still tarry to madden him the more? Get to bed! As for you, Joseph, go to your room and try to get a little sleep. Remember that in the morning we prepare for the march.”
“You are right. Now she is gone, I am a man again. I tell you she maddens me. I did not mean to tell her that, when I spoke. Let him look to himself, the alien dog!”
“You will have the chance, Joseph, as we march against him, to do away with him forever. Come, be a man.”