ow he did not smile easily--it must be now about five,
for here was the morning creeping in behind the deer-skin blind at the
window.

Strange that he felt none the worse for his mishap, and his tongue was
as clean and fresh as if he had been drinking milk last night, and
not very doubtful brandy at the Cote Dorion. No fever in his hands,
no headache, only the sore skull, so well and tightly bandaged but a
wonderful thirst, and an intolerable hunger. He smiled. When had he ever
been hungry for breakfast before? Here he was with a fine appetite: it
was like coals of fire heaped on his head by Nature for last night's
business at the Cote Dorion. How true it was that penalties did not
always come with--indiscretions. Yet, all at once, he flushed again to
the forehead, for a curious sense of shame flashed through his whole
being, and one Charley Steele--the Charley Steele of this morning,
an unknown, unadventuring, onlooking Charley Steele--was viewing with
abashed eyes the Charley Steele who had ended a doubtful career in the
coarse and desperate proceedings of last night. With a nervous confusion
he sought refuge in his eye-glass. His fingers fumbled over his
waistcoat, but did not find it. The weapon of defence and attack, the
symbol of interrogation and incomprehensibility, was gone. Beauty Steele
was under the eyes of another self, and neither disdain, nor contempt,
nor the passive stare, were available. He got suddenly to his feet, and
started forward, as though to find refuge from himself.

The abrupt action sent the blood to his head, and feeling a blindness
come over him, he put both hands up to his temples, and sank back on the
couch, dizzy and faint.

His motions waked Jo Portugais, who scrambled from the floor, and came
towards him.

"M'sieu'," he said, "you must not. You are faint." He dropped his hands
supportingly to Charley's shoulders.

Charley nodded, but did not yet look up. His head throbbed sorely.
"Water--please!" he said.

In an instant Jo was beside him again, with a bowl of fresh water at his
lips. He drank, drank, drank, until the great bowl was drained to the
last drop.

"Whew! That was good!" he said, and looked up at Jo with a smile. "Thank
you, my friend; I haven't the honour of your acquaintance, but--"

He stopped suddenly and stared at Jo. Inquiry, mystification, were in
his look.

"Have I ever seen you before?" he said. "Who knows, M'sieu'!"

Since Jo had stood before Charley i