laughed as he caught her hand and kissed it. The window closed
softly, the shade was drawn down, and Ramon Garcia, hat still in one
hand, the flower in the other, passed down the street, still singing in
a gentle undertone. Drennen turned abruptly at right angles to the way
he had come and passed out of the Settlement into the darkness under
the trees.

Swiftness and determination had gone out of his stride. Unconsciously
he allowed his feet to carry him along a well known trail which led
along the flank of the wooded slope. Once or twice he stopped. Then
again he moved on, always further, from the Settlement.

He was well again and strong. Rest and nature had done all they could
for him in a handful of long, quiet days. He was still twenty pounds
lighter than he should be normally, but he had both feet firmly set in
a smooth highway of convalescence. The mental and spiritual roadways
were not so smooth or straight.

He had seen much of Ygerne of late. He had come to know that, wise man
or fool, he loved her. They had met frequently, at Joe's, upon the
short street, in their walks up and down the river. They had not
spoken of all that had gone before and there had been as much silence
as talk between them. He continued to tell himself coolly that he knew
nothing of her, that she might be good or bad, loyal or treacherous.
But he knew that he did not hate her and that he did love her. He knew
that he was not angry because she had come into his life but that he
was glad.

He knew to-night that his whole spiritual being was made simply of two
elements: of love, which is a white flame in a man like Drennen; of
jealousy, which is a black shadow. He had been on his way to her, his
mind made up that he would not sleep without telling her of his love.
The sight of Garcia had halted him. Garcia's singing to her had
awakened a fierce anger within him; his flesh had twitched and
something had seemed to sear hot through it as Garcia's lips touched
her hand.

Now he tried to look at these matters calmly. He knew that in the fury
which had sent him at Lemarc and Sefton before Marshall Sothern had
gathered up his limp body the driving force had been jealousy. He knew
that even then, in his delirium, he wanted her all to himself.

Less than a month had passed since first he had seen her and he did not
now know what manner of woman she was. But he did know that that does
not matter. His fate had driven him int