The Tempest Breaks

This night, he anticipated, was to be the last he spent in that old fort. He more than anticipated it; he felt certain. He had heard early in the day of the return of Joan's Aunt Mercy, and this was an all-sufficient reason for his belief. Since that moment he had completed every preparation which before he had only tentatively considered; and such matters had been attended to entirely independent of his friend.

This had to be. It was useless to inform him of anything, worse than useless, until the last moment, when he intended that his schemes should be executed to the last detail. After much painful thought he had finally decided upon coercion to gain his ends. No mere bluff, but a straightforward, honest declaration of his intentions. It was very hurtful that he must do this thing. But he could not help it. He had resolved on saving his friend from himself, and no considerations of personal feelings or, in fact, anybody's feelings, should be allowed to stand in his way. He regarded his duty as a man, and not as a law-abiding citizen. He had no real understanding of the law. His was the only law that guided him, and his law demanded of him, rightly or wrongly, the defense from all harm of those whom he loved.

His manhood dictated this, and he had no thought of personal danger, or toward what painful destiny it might carry him. The future belonged to the future, life and death were things of no more account than waking to daylight, or the profound slumbers of night. Those who would injure him or his friend must be dealt with in the only way he understood. To outwit them was his first thought, but he must defeat their ends if it cost him his life.