Ferrier remained silent for some little time with his brows knitted.

 

“You will give us time,” he said at last. “My daughter is very young—she is

scarce of an age to marry.”

 

“She shall have a month to choose,” said Young, rising from his seat. “At the

end of that time she shall give her answer.”

 

He was passing through the door, when he turned, with flushed face and flashing

eyes. “It were better for you, John Ferrier,” he thundered, “that you and she

were now lying blanched skeletons upon the Sierra Blanco, than that you should

put your weak wills against the orders of the Holy Four!”

 

With a threatening gesture of his hand, he turned from the door, and Ferrier

heard his heavy step scrunching along the shingly path.

 

He was still sitting with his elbows upon his knees, considering how he should

broach the matter to his daughter when a soft hand was laid upon his, and

looking up, he saw her standing beside him. One glance at her pale, frightened

face showed him that she had heard what had passed.

 

“I could not help it,” she said, in answer to his look. “His voice rang through

the house. Oh, father, father, what shall we do?”

 

“Don’t you scare yourself,” he answered, drawing her to him, and passing his