She tried to
tear it away and flattened herself against the rock, panting, her face
gone white as the alkaline patches of the desert.
"You don't love him. You never did."
She shook her head again, gasping. "Let me out of here. Let go of me."
"You liar," he whispered. "You love me."
She could not answer, her knees shaking, the place blurring on her
sight. Through a sick dizziness she saw nothing but his altered face.
He reached for the other hand, spread flat against the stone, and as
she felt his grasp upon it, her words came in broken pleading:
"Yes, yes, it's true. I do. But I've promised. Let me go."
"Then come to me," he said huskily and tried to wrench her forward into
his arms.
She held herself rigid, braced against the wall, and tearing one hand
free, raised it, palm out, between his face and hers.
"No, no! My father--I promised him. I can't tell David now. I will
later. Don't hold me. Let me go."
The voice of Daddy John came clear from outside. "Missy! Hullo,
Missy! Where are you?"
She sent up the old man's name in a quavering cry and the mountain man
dropped her arm and stepped back.
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