"
"But Mescal--are you going to marry him? For God's sake, tell me."
"Never." It was a woman's word, instant, inflexible, desperate. With a
deep breath Hare realized where the girl had changed.
"Still you're promised, pledged to him! How'll you get out of it?"
"I don't know how. But I'll cut out my tongue, and be dumb as my poor
peon before I'll speak the word that'll make me Snap Naab's wife."
There was a long silence. Mescal smoothed out Bolly's mane, and Hare
gazed up at the walls with eyes that did not see them.
Presently he spoke. "I'm afraid for you. Snap watched us to-day at
dinner."
"He's jealous."
"Suppose he sees this scarf?"
Mescal laughed defiantly. It was bewildering for Hare to hear her.
"He'll--Mescal, I may yet come to this." Hare's laugh echoed Mescal's as
he pointed to the enclosure under the wall, where the graves showed bare
and rough.
Her warm color fled, but it flooded back, rich, mantling brow and cheek
and neck.
"Snap Naab will never kill you," she said impulsively.
"Mescal."
She swiftly turned her face away as his hand closed on hers.
"Mescal, do you love me?"
The trembling of her fingers and the heaving of her bosom lent his hope
conviction.
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