“You must,” I answered sharply. “Is it possible that Mrs. Menzies allowed you to do this rash thing?”
“I came without her permission. She thinks I have retired,” Flora replied in a spirited tone. “Let me help to defend the fort, Denzil. I can fire a gun, and I am not a bit afraid, and it is my duty, I feel like a coward these brave men fighting and dying.”
What could I say? The girl’s rashness angered me, but I admired her pluck and courage. I had never loved her so much as I loved her that instant—never so fully realized what the barrenness of my life would be without her. And she was Griffith Hawke’s!
“Flora—” I began.
She seemed to divine my feelings, and of a sudden she shrank a little from me.
“Hush!” she said. “I have been foolish and impulsive, Denzil. I am going back to Mrs. Menzies.”
The mad words were checked on my lips.
“Yes, go!” I answered hoarsely. “Go at once—”
There was the sound of a footfall to one side, and I glanced around to see the factor. How much he had heard I could only surmise; but he stood in silence for a moment, looking from one to the other of us.
“Flora, why are you here?” he asked, and to me his voice seemed cold and harsh.