CHAPTER XXXI
OUR PLANS MISCARRY
THE gaunt, stoop-shouldered figure disappeared, and no one of us moved or spoke. Donald's lips were sternly set, his eyes burning, but Jean clung to him, her pleading face upturned. Then his fingers released their grip on the revolver butt, and his glance shifted to me, a slight smile breaking the grimness of his expression.
"Pleasant disposition, King," he said easily, and I jealously noted how his hand lifted, and rested tenderly on the girl's hair. "Really it would have been rather a pleasure to shoot the fellow, but I have never been favorably inclined toward murder; besides, the lassie here seems to be going over to his side."
"You know that is not so," she burst forth indignantly, drawing back from him. "I have as much to forgive as you, but have grown ashamed of such savagery. To his side! I am a friend to Lieutenant King, but does that mean I am disloyal to my country?"
Donald caught the girl's uplifted hand, the slight sarcastic smile vanishing from his lips.
"No, no, Jean," he insisted, "my words were a jest. I understand your position, and sympathize with it. But what can one do with that surly, revengeful brute?
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