THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
It is for her I have lived and worked. I tell you she is mine! I love her! I love her, and she loves me. I know it." His words came low, fierce, and swift.
Miss St. Clair stood breathless. What a man he looked and how handsome he was!
With but a moment's pause Ranald went on, but his voice took a gentler tone. "Miss St. Clair, do you understand me? Yes, I know you do." The blood came flowing suddenly to her thin cheeks. "You say she is out with Captain De Lacy, and you mean me to think that she is to give herself to him. He loves her, I know, but I say she is mine! Her eyes have told me that. She is mine, I tell you, and no man living will take her from me." The fire that always slumbered in his eyes was now blazing in full fury. The great passion of his life was raging through his soul, vibrating in his voice, and glowing in his dark face. Miss St. Clair sat silent, and then motioned him to a seat.
"Mr. Macdonald," she said, with grave courtesy, "you are too late, I fear. I did not realize—Maimie will never be yours. I know my niece." At the sad earnestness of her voice, Ranald's face began to grow pale.
"I will wait for her," he said, quietly.
"I beg you will not."
"I will wait," he repeated, with lips tight pressed.
"It is vain, Mr. Macdonald, I assure you. Spare yourself and her. I know what—I could have—"
Her voice grew husky.
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