He stood panting and speechless.
'What do you want, Harry ?' she asked.
Had she been bitter or angry it might have been easier for him, but her voice was low and kindly, and he was abashed.

He was compelled to force himself to his purpose, as he might have pushed a backing horse at a stiff fence.
'I want your father.

He is here.' His voice was harsh and strained.
'My father is not in here.' 'He has been seen.

Let me pass.' 'No, Harry, you have no right.' She barred the way, tall and calm and strong.
'No right?
No right to take the man who has gaoled my brother--who would have murdered me ?' His blood had mounted to his head; he had put aside his love as something that tempted him to evil, put it aside by an almost heroic effort of renunciation.

'I will have him,' he cried; 'the would-be murderer, the thief.' 'No,' said Christina firmly facing him.
'Then he's here--he is here?
'No.' 'You lie thinking to save him, but the troopers are coming.' He pointed back into the night.