MY LADY OF THE SOUTH
sleeve, the light of the lamp glimmering in her hair, her eyes full of pleading. My mouth hardened, the grip of my fingers on the revolver butt tightening. It seemed to me I understood: it was Donald, not Calvert Dunn, who stood between us.
"Please, gentlemen, do not quarrel; at least not here, not now. See, I stand between you."
"Lieutenant King is very slow in delivering his weapons," said Donald quietly. "He has perhaps forgotten I am the victor here."
The words were plainly a threat, but it was the look in her eyes which decided me.
"You overpowered me with your strength," I returned coldly, "but the only one I have surrendered to in this house is Miss Denslow. I give her my weapons, not you."
"Oh, as you please," his lips still smiling. "Jean, dear, disarm the fellow, and let us get at other work."
"Jean, dear," the words stung, they were so coolly uttered, so redolent of endearment; yet as she held out her hands, I placed my revolvers in them, noting the flush upon her clear cheek, the sudden drooping of lashes over her eyes. I felt hat I understood it all now, my heart heavy from the discovery—her dislike of Calvert Dunn arose from her love for Jem Donald. I had been a fool, dreaming the bright, tinted dreams of a fool. But I would keep that secret to myself; neither he nor she should ever know.
"And now that I am disarmed, Colonel Donald, what do you propose doing with me?"
[ 184 ]
