The Danite himself had said that the journey to which she was haled by her friends was one of untold hardship, its end uncertain; he offered her all that an honest and prosperous man could offer, but went on to urge on his own behalf the strength of those sentiments which he had learned to entertain for her--his admiration (Susannah sickened at the word), his love (she shrank in fear).
She rose up with the moan of a hunted thing.

She did not pause to make excuses for the hunter, to consider the pioneer life that wots little of sentiment in proportion to utility; she only saw again the grave at Haun's Mill and the white faces of her dead upturned to hers.

It seemed that this man, with the consent of his people, was urging his suit as it were beside the very corpse of her husband.

The Danite had shown Angel reverence, had shown by his every word and glance that he counted her as belonging to the dead man whose blood he carried at his heart.
Susannah rode out from that temporary home at nightfall upon the Danite's horse..