taken upon herself in expiation of something--she knew not clearly what;
no, for nothing--only for HIM. And yet this very situation offered
her that gleam of hope which had thrilled her; a hope so wild in its
improbability, so degrading in its possibility, that at first she knew
not whether despair was not preferable to its shame. And yet was it
unreasonable? She was no longer passionate; she would be calm and think
it out fairly.

She would go to Low at once. She would find him somewhere--and even if
with that girl, what mattered?--and she would tell him all. When he knew
that the life and death of his father lay in the scale, would he let his
brief, foolish passion for Nellie stand in the way? Even if he were not
influenced by filial affection or mere compassion, would his pride let
him stoop to a rivalry with the man who had deserted his youth? Could
he take Dunn's promised bride, who must have coquetted with him to have
brought him to this miserable plight? Was this like the calm, proud
young god she knew? Yet she had an uneasy instinct that calm, proud
young gods and goddesses did things like this, and felt the weakness of
her reasoning flush her own conscious cheek.

"Teresa!"

She started. Dunn was awake, and was gazing at her curiously.

"I was reckoning it was the only square thing for Low to stop this
promiscuous picnicking here and marry you out and out."

"Marry me!" said Teresa in a voice that, with all her efforts, she could
not make cynical.