"I am afraid so—but you must not lose your nerve. We shall have to fight!"
"Fight? yes; but what use?" and she grasped my arm with both hands. "Why—why they are ten to one, and there is no chance for us to outwit them. Do not think me a fool or a hysterical girl—it—it is not that! I—I would not be so afraid, only for that man. I cannot fall into his power. I will kill myself first! You do not know Anse Cowan; but I do; he is a dirty, foul, cruel dog; I would rather die than have his hands touch me. I hate and despise him; he is an incarnate brute—and—and he is here after me!"
"Hush," I urged, holding her tightly, her slight form trembling. "Do not let go yet; they may not even come up the stairs."
"But they will," she insisted. "I tell you I know the man. He—he swore he would marry me two years ago; he told me so, and I laughed at him. He stopped my father on the road, held a rifle to his head, and boasted that some day he would make me pay his debts. This is no mere incident of war—it is revenge! I—I would not be frightened but for that—that awful alternative. Tell me—tell me what to do!"
She stared pleadingly into my face, but, reading no answer there to her wild appeal, sank to her knees,
