Nap was standing just beyond the outspreading boughs of the cedar,
a straight relentless figure, with the arrogance of complete mastery in
every line, while at his feet grovelled and whimpered the great
half-breed, Tawny Hudson.

Nap was speaking. She could not hear what he said, but spell-bound she
watched, while a curious sensation of awe tingled through her. The man
was so superbly self-confident.

Suddenly she saw him stoop and take something from his prostrate enemy. A
sharp doubt assailed her. She saw the wretched Tawny cringe lower and
cover his face. She saw the moonlight glint upon the thing in Nap's hand.

He seemed to be considering it, for he turned it this way and that,
making it flash and flash again. And then abruptly, with a swift turn of
the wrist, he spun it high into the air. It made a shining curve, and
fell with a splash into the stream. She saw the widening ripples from
where she stood.

But she did not stay to watch them. Her attention was focussed upon the
scene that was being enacted before her.

It was very nearly over. Tawny Hudson had lifted his head, and she saw
submission the most abject on his upraised face. He seemed to be pleading
for something, and after a moment, with the faintest shrug of the
shoulders, Nap lifted one hand and made a curious gesture above him. The
next instant he turned upon his heel and came towards her, while Tawny
Hudson got up and slunk away into the shadows.

Anne awaited him, standing quite motionless. She knew now what had
happened. He had grappled with the man's will just as once he had
grappled with hers. And he had conquered. She expected him to
approach her with the royal swagger of victory, and involuntarily she
shrank, dreading to encounter him in that mood, painfully aware of
her own weakness.

He came to her; he stood before her. "Anne," he said, "forgive me!"

She gazed at him in astonishment. "Forgive you!" she repeated. "But why?"

"I have no right to practise the black arts in your presence," he said,
"though as a matter of fact there was no other way. I've frightened the
poor devil out of his senses. Aren't you frightened too?"

"I don't understand," she answered rather piteously. "I am only thankful
that you are not hurt."

"That's good of you," he said, and she heard no irony in his voice. He
leaned his arms upon the rail beside her, and stared down in silence
for several moments into the dark water. "If this had happened a
week--le