Ben Blair said not a word.
"You could not," repeated the girl swiftly; "could not, because you—love me!"
One of the man's hands loosened in an unconscious gesture.
"Don't repeat that, please, or trust in it," he answered. "You misled me once, but you can't mislead me again. It is because I love you that I will do what I said."
There was but one weapon in the arsenal adequate to meet the emergency. With a sudden motion, the girl came close to him.
"Ben, Ben Blair," her arms flashed around the man's neck, the brown eyes—moist, sparkling—were turned to his face, "promise me you will not do it." The dainty throat swelled and receded with her short quick breaths. "Promise me! Please promise me!"
For a second the rancher did not stir; then, very gently, he freed himself and moved a step backward.
"Florence," he said slowly, "you do not know me even yet." He drew out his big old-fashioned silver watch, once Rankin's. "You still have four minutes to get ready—no more, no less."
Silence like that of a death-chamber fell over the bright little dining-room. From the outside came the sound of Mollie's step as she moved back and forth, back and forth, but dared not enter. A boy was clipping the lawn, and the muffled purr of the mower, accompanied by the bit of popular ragtime he was whistling, stole into the room.
Suddenly a carriage drove up in front of the house, and leaping from his seat the driver stood waiting. The door of the vestibule opened, and Scotty himself stepped uncertainly within. At the library entrance he halted, but the odor of the black cigar he was smoking was wafted in.