And the habit of years--the religious passion of her life--leaped from lethargy, and the long months of gradual drifting to doubt were as if they had never been.

"If you spill his blood it'll be on my soul--and on my father's.

Listen." And she clasped his knees, and clung there as he tried to raise her.
"Listen.

Am I nothing to you ?" "Woman--don't trifle at words! I love you! An' I'll soon prove it." "I'll give myself to you--I'll ride away with you--marry you, if only you'll spare him ?" His answer was a cold, ringing, terrible laugh.
"Lassiter--I'll love you.

Spare him!" "No." She sprang up in despairing, breaking spirit, and encircled his neck with her arms, and held him in an embrace that he strove vainly to loosen.