At that loving call Jaquelina staggered across the floor to Ronald's bedside. She laid her wan, white face upon his own, and kissed him through a rain of bitter tears.

"Oh! my poor, poor murdered love," she sobbed wildly. "If you should die your poor Lina must die too."

Ronald's arm stole around the slender form lovingly.

"It is not so bad as that, dear," he said. "I shall get well, please God, and we shall be married soon. Nay, why should we not have the holy man come and unite us at this very hour? Would it not be the best, Lina, darling? Then you would belong to me, and be my own patient, loving little nurse. Believe me, I should get well all the faster."

But Jaquelina had drawn back from his caress with a sudden cry of pain. He put out his hand with a smile to draw her back, and then he saw that her small, white hands were cut and bruised, and that a linen bandage was swathed about her right arm.

"Oh! my poor little Lina!" he cried, "your hands are cruelly bruised and torn! Who has done this wicked, brutal deed?"

Her lips quivered as he took her hands gently and pressed them to his lips; the large tears gathered in her eyes and brimmed over on her pale cheeks.

"No one has done it, Ronald," she said, falteringly. "I crawled on my hands and knees through a long, dark, perilous cave, and the sharp rocks bruised and wounded me. But I did not care for that; I was so glad to get away that I did not feel the pain. Look at this," she said, turning back a corner of the bandage on her arm.

Ronald looked and shivered. There was a terrible, jagged wound on the fair, round arm, and the flesh around it was fearfully bruised and discolored.

"There were horses tethered in the cave," she whispered. "It was pitch black: I could see nothing. I must have crawled beneath their very feet, and one struck his hoof out in the darkness and kicked this arm. Then, by a merciful providence, I was enabled to turn aside out of the range of their hoofs. Oh, I cannot tell you, Ronald, how terrible it was, creeping through that fearful place."

"You were in the very den of the outlaws," he exclaimed.

"Yes," she answered, with a shudder.

"And you escaped from them, my brave little girl!" he cried. "Oh, thank God, you were saved from the vindictive power of that man! Lina, I cannot rest easy one moment now until I have the right to watch over every moment of your life. I must take you far away from here."

She trembled at the passionate dread in his voice, then rallied bravely.

"Do not fear for me," she said. "He will not molest me again, Ronald."

But Ronald shook his head.

"I shall never know one moment's peace until you are my own," he said. "Lina, I shall send for the minister to-night, and you shall be my wife without one moment's delay. You are willing, are you not, my little love?"

The girl clasped her small, bruised hands together, and her pale face grew paler still with anguish.

"Oh, pitiful Heaven!" she wailed, "how can I tell you the truth, my own Ronald?"

He looked at her in wonder.

"Lina, what is it?" he asked. "You will not refuse to marry me here and now—you cannot be so cruel. Think, love, you would have been my wife last night if all had gone well, and you cannot now refuse my prayer to make you mine in the moment of my suffering and sorrow. Think what a comfort it would be to me to have my own little wife for my patient, loving nurse—or perhaps that would be too great a burden for you, Lina?"

"No, no; it would be too great a pleasure," she replied eagerly. "How could I think any task performed for you would be a burden, Ronald?"

"Then you will marry me to-night, Lina, will you not, my darling?"

She looked at the pale, handsome face, with its anxious eyes and winning smile, and her heart gave a great, suffocating throb of terrible pain.

"Ronald, I cannot—to-night," she said, falteringly.

"To-morrow, then?" he said.

"That is too soon," she answered, looking away from him that he might not see the pain in her face. "We must defer it. Let us wait until you get well."

An expression of the keenest disappointment came over the handsome face.

"Lina, I thought you loved me better than that," he said, reproachfully. "What reason can there be for waiting so long?"

"There is a very important reason," she replied, tremblingly.

"Tell me what it is," said Ronald, half-laughing.

He thought it was only some small feminine scruple he could easily overcome.

She looked at him, hesitating strangely.

She had moved a little way from him, and stood with her hand resting easily on the back of a chair, while her long lashes drooped and a crimson flush tinted her face.

"Tell me what it is," he said again. "Is it that the pretty wedding-dress is ruined. Lina? Never mind that. The one you are wearing will do perfectly well."

"It is a greater obstacle than that," she faltered; "but it may be overcome after awhile. Uncle says so, and Walter Earle—I have told him, too—says that it will all come right."

"Lina, come here to my side and put both your hands in mine," said Ronald Valchester.

She obeyed him, though she trembled like a leaf.

"Now look straight into my eyes and let me see if you are quite sane," he said.

She lifted her long lashes obediently and looked at him.

He started as those dark eyes met his own. They were dim and heavy with almost intolerable anguish.

"Oh, Heaven, my darling, what mystery is this?" he cried out, fearfully. "Lina, what has happened to part us?"

She shivered, as though the very words hurt her.

"It is only for a little while," she said, in a low and faltering tone. "Uncle Charlie has promised to do all he can for us. It is bitter to bear, Ronald, but it will all come right."

"Lina, you drive me mad," he cried, hoarsely; and she saw that his face was pallid as death, and his eyes wild and frightened. "Go, my child, send Walter Earle to me. Perhaps he will tell me the truth."

A look of resolute endurance came into the pathetic young face.

"No," she said, "I will tell you myself. They said I could break it to you more gently. Perhaps I may help you to bear it. Oh, my darling, do not look at me so hard! I would have died rather than this should have happened."

The sight of her anguish almost maddened Ronald Valchester.

"Lina, I cannot bear this suspense any longer," he cried. "Tell me why you will not marry me?"

She came nearer; she took both his hands and held them in her own; she looked at him with brave, patient eyes.

"Oh, Ronald, my best beloved," she said, trying to speak calmly and bravely, "you must remember while I am telling you that it will not be for long. The obstacle shall be removed—Uncle Charlie has promised me that. But I cannot be your wife now, because—oh, Ronald, because—against my own will—I am already—married to another."

A terrible pause! The blue-gray eyes, looking up into the tear-wet black ones, grew dark with intense emotion; the handsome face grew corpse-like in its awful pallor.

"Lina!" he gasped, then words failed him.

"Yes, Ronald," she said, "last night that man had a priest in his awful cave. He read the ceremony of marriage over Gerald Huntington and myself; he pronounced us man and wife. But, Ronald, Uncle Charlie will get a divorce for me, and I will marry you as soon as I am free. Ronald——"

She stopped in terror. He had turned suddenly upon his side, and after a low, gasping sound in his throat, and one quiver of the limbs, lay still, with the bluish pallor of death on his face.

She laid her hand on his heart, but there was no movement.

"Ronald is dead!" she cried, and her wail of anguish re-echoed through the house.