Crane, nor yet Little Peachey's. It's something
bigger'n the lot of us: it's nature. You might as well put your
back up against a landslide. As to stayin' on here, 'tain't in
me: I must hit the trail to-morrow morning. But to-night thar's
somethin' in here"---and he struck his breast--"that won't keep:
it's got to be said. I've spoken my little piece, an' you say you
size me for a man. Bien! Bein' a man, I take no favors. No sir, I
ain't no empty-handed brave. Little Peachey bein' the squaw for
me, an' I havin' told you so, an' smoked your tobacco an' drunk
your whisky, I hereby deliver."
He drew out a roll of bills and tossed them upon the table,
observing whimsically:
"Two hundred an' thirty-odd dollars, honestly come by, an' all
the estate, real or otherwise, whereof I stand possessed. Money
talks. Take it; it's yours. An' now I'm goin' to find Little
Peachey."
He strode out into the night and toward the forelands, his ears
guided by the monotonous crash and moan of the long Atlantic
swell.
Standing on the cliff was a wind-fluttered figure that turned at
the sound of his step, with eyes defiantly alert.
"You knew I'd come," he said simply, drawing close to her.
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