“Don’t, don’t,” she gasped as she struggled to her feet. “You must not do that; it isn’t right.”
“Love makes it right,” North replied, as he also rose. “Marion, I love you, and I want you to know it. I am a man of few words, and not used to love-making language. But I must tell you. I cannot restrain myself any longer.”
He ceased, drew her to him, and his lips met hers. No longer did Marion contend, for a happiness such as she had never known swept over her. She felt North’s strong arms about her, holding her close. Neither spoke. It was enough that they were together, so words were unnecessary.
Gently at length Marion freed herself from her lover’s embrace, and stood before him with flaming cheeks.
“I never imagined that you loved me so much,” she murmured. “It seems like a wonderful dream.”
“It is no dream,” North assured, “it is the glorious reality. I was afraid that you didn’t love me, but I had to tell you to-day, for I might not see you again for some time.”
“What! are you going away?”
“Yes, in a short time, just as soon as the dogs get rested a little. There is serious work ahead, and I must not delay.”
“In connection with the murder?”
“Yes. Hugo is the man I want. He is either the murderer, or he has information which I need. But he is a nasty man to face, and there may be trouble.”
“Oh! do you think so?” The color faded somewhat from Marion’s cheeks. She had to think of two now. How terrible it would be if her father and her lover should meet in a deadly encounter! She longed to tell
