I scorn my uncle and I hate my
cousin George. And I love you. But don't you kill one of my family,
I--Oh, I beg of you go as far as you dare to avoid that!"
I could find no voice to answer her, and for a long moment we were
locked in an embrace, breast to breast and lips to lips, an embrace of
sweet pain.
Then she broke away, called a low, hurried good-by, and stole like a
shadow into the darkness.
An hour later I lay in the open starlight among the stones and brush,
out where Steele and I always met. He lay there with me, but while I
looked up at the stars he had his face covered with his hands. For I had
given him my proofs of the guilt of Diane Sampson's father.
Steele had made one comment: "I wish to God I'd sent for some fool who'd
have bungled the job!"
This was a compliment to me, but it showed what a sad pass Steele had
come to. My regret was that I had no sympathy to offer him. I failed him
there. I had trouble of my own. The feel of Sally's clinging arms around
my neck, the warm, sweet touch of her lips remained on mine. What Steele
was enduring I did not know, but I felt that it was agony.
Meanwhile time passed. The blue, velvety sky darkened as the stars grew
brighter.
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