'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. From where he stood the back door was visible, and
he watched it intently.

'The troopers are the officers of the law. I can not deny them, you I
can. Harry, you are fierce and cruel--fierce and unforgiving.' The
reproach was not spoken fretfully; it was quite dispassionate, but it
struck him like a blow and he bent before it, conscious of its injustice