The Border Legion

Joan was blinded by tears and whispering she knew not what when

Cleve broke from his trance and caught her to his breast. She was

fainting--hovering at the border of unconsciousness when his

violence held her back from oblivion. She seemed wrapped to him and

held so tightly there was no breath in her body, no motion, no stir

of pulse. That vague, dreamy moment passed. She heard his husky,

broken accents--she felt the pound of his heart against her breast.

And he began to kiss her as she had begged him to. She quickened to

thrilling, revivifying life. And she lifted her face, and clung

round his neck, and kissed him, blindly, sweetly, passionately, with

all her heart and soul in her lips, wanting only one thing in the

world--to give that which she had denied him.

"Joan! ... Joan! ... Joan!" he murmured when their lips parted. "Am I

dreaming--drunk--or crazy?"

"Oh, Jim, I'm real--you have me in your arms," she whispered. "Dear

Jim--kiss me again--and say you believe me."

"Believe you? ... I'm out of my mind with joy. ... You loved me! You

followed me! ... And--that idea of mine--only an absurd, vile

suspicion! I might have known--had I been sane!"

"There. ... Oh, Jim! ... Enough of madness. We've got to plan.

Remember where we are. There's Kells, and this terrible situation to

meet!"

He stared at her, slowly realizing, and then it was his turn to

shake. "My God! I'd forgotten. I'll HAVE to kill you now!"

A reaction set in. If he had any self-control left he lost it, and

like a boy whose fling into manhood had exhausted his courage he

sank beside her and buried his face against her. And he cried in a

low, tense, heartbroken way. For Joan it was terrible to hear him.

She held his hand to her breast and implored him not to weaken now.

But he was stricken with remorse--he had run off like a coward, he

had brought her to this calamity--and he could not rise under it.

Joan realized that he had long labored under stress of morbid

emotion. Only a supreme effort could lift him out of it to strong

and reasoning equilibrium, and that must come from her.

She pushed him away from her, and held him back where he must see

her, and white-hot with passionate purpose, she kissed him. "Jim

Cleve, if you've NERVE enough to be BAD you've nerve enough to save

the girl who LOVES you--who BELONGS to you!"

He raised his face and it flashed from red to white. He caught the

subtlety of her antithesis. With the very two words which had driven

him away under the sting of cowardice she uplifted him; and with all

that was tender and faithful and passionate in her meaning of

surrender she settled at once and forever the doubt of his manhood.

He arose trembling in every limb. Like a dog he shook himself. His

breast heaved. The shades of scorn and bitterness and abandon might

never have haunted his face. In that moment he had passed from the

reckless and wild, sick rage of a weakling to the stern, realizing

courage of a man. His suffering on this wild border had developed a

different fiber of character; and at the great moment, the climax,

when his moral force hung balanced between elevation and

destruction, the woman had called to him, and her unquenchable

spirit passed into him.