"It is not true!" I said to him in somber anger. "I proposed to put before her the fact of my own weakness, of my own self-deception, which also was deception of her. I propose to do that now."
"If you did, she would refuse to look at you again."
"I know it, but it must be done. I must take my chances."
"And your chances mean this alternative--either that my girl's reputation shall be ruined all over the country--all through the Army, where she is known and loved--or else that her heart must be broken. This is what it means, Mr. Cowles. This is what you have brought to my family."
"Yes," I said to him, slowly, "this is what I have brought."
"Then which do you choose, sir?" he demanded of me.
"I choose to break her heart!" I answered. "Because that is the truth, and that is right. I only know one way to ride, and that is straight."
He smiled at me coldly in his frosty beard. "That sounds well from you!" he said bitterly. "Ellen!" he raised his voice. "Ellen, I say, come here at once!"
It was my ear which first heard the rustling of her footsteps at the edge of the thicket as she approached. She came before us slowly, halting, leaning on her crutch. A soft flush shone through the brown upon her cheeks.
I shall not forget in all my life the picture of her as she stood. Neither shall I forget the change which came across her face as she saw us sitting there silent, cold, staring at her. Then, lovable in her rags, beautiful in her savagery, the gentleness of generations of culture in all her mien in spite of her rude surroundings, she stepped up and laid her hand upon her father's shoulder, one finger half pointing at the ragged scroll of hide which lay upon the ground before us. I loved her--ah, how I loved her then!
"I signed that, father," she said gently. "I was going to sign it, little by little, a letter each week. We were engaged--nothing more. But here or anywhere, some time, I intend to marry Mr. Cowles. This I have promised of my own free will. He has been both man and gentleman, father. I love him."
I heard the groan which came from his throat. She sprang back. "What is it?" she said. The old fire of her disposition again broke out.
"What!" she cried. "You object? Listen, I will sign my name now--I will finish it--give me--give me--" She sought about on the ground for something which would leave a mark. "I say I have not been his, but will be, father--as I like, when I like--now, this very night if I choose--forever! He has done everything for me--I trust him--I know he is a man of honor, that he--" Her voice broke as she looked at my face.