Then she started as a dark form rose out of the shadow under her and a hand clasped hers. Jim! and she lifted her face.
“Joan! Joan! I'm rich! rich!” he babbled, wildly.
“Ssssh!” whispered Joan, softly, in his ear. “Be careful. You're wild to-night.... I saw you come in with the nugget. I heard you.... Oh, you lucky Jim! I'll tell you what to do with it!”
“Darling! It's all yours. You'll marry me now?”
“Sir! Do you take me for a fortune-hunter? I marry you for your gold? Never!”
“Joan!”
“I've promised,” she said.
“I won't go away now. I'll work my claim,” he began, excitedly. And he went on so rapidly that Joan could not keep track of his words. He was not so cautious as formerly. She remonstrated with him, all to no purpose. Not only was he carried away by possession of gold and assurance of more, but he had become masterful, obstinate, and illogical. He was indeed hopeless to-night—the gold had gotten into his blood. Joan grew afraid he would betray their secret and realized there had come still greater need for a woman's wit. So she resorted to a never-failing means of silencing him, of controlling him—her lips on his.