the storm above the mountain spruces whither, she knew not, cared not.
There was one thought that drifted across the chaos like a blue light of
the spirit: Could she control the storm? Could she say whither the winds
might blow, where the seed might be planted? Then she found herself
listening, struggling no longer, for he held her powerless. Strangest of
all, most hopeful of all, his own mind was working, though his soul
rocked with passion.

"Cynthy--ever since we stopped that day on the road in Northcutt's woods,
I've thought of nothin' but to marry you--m-marry you. Then you give me
that book--I hain't had much education, but it come across me if you was
to help me that way--And when I seed you with Worthington, I could have
killed him easy as breakin' bark."

"Hush, Jethro."

She struggled free and leaped away from him, panting, while he tore open
his coat and drew forth something which gleamed in the lantern's rays--a
silver locket. Cynthia scarcely saw it. Her blood was throbbing in her
temples, she could not reason, but she knew that the appeal for the sake
of which she had stooped must be delivered now.

"Jethro," she said, "do you know why I came here--why I came to you?"

"No," he said. "No. W--wanted me, didn't you? Wanted me--I wanted you,
Cynthy."

"I would never have come to you for that," she cried, "never!"

"L-love me, Cynthy--love me, don't you?"