famine in his being. Without stepping back, without, a
movement of retreat or a change of countenance, she put her hands
behind her back.

"Signorina!" He was close to her now; the heat of his face beat upon
the ice of hers. "Oh! This I can't! Give me at least your hand.
Signorina."

Her voice was as level, as calm, as quiet, and yet as loud with
allurement as ever.

"Signor Tenente, no!"

His was the pervert blood, the virtues and the sins born of the
promiscuity of races. Hers rigid, empty of invitation were the ripe
Italian lips, pure, with the fastidious purity of her high birth and
the childlike sweetness of her youth.

"Signorina!" He had meant to plead, but the force of her presence
overwhelmed him. He felt himself sucked down in a whirlpool of
impulse; doom was ahead; but the current of desire was too strong. A
movement and his arms were about her!

"Love!" he gasped. His lips were upon hers, Kissing, kissing! He
slaked himself on that dead and unresponsive mouth violently; he felt
her frail and slender in the crush of his arms. All her virginal and
girlish loveliness was his for a mad moment; then--. He released her.
They stood apart. He passed a hand over his brow to clear the fog
from his eyes.

"I, I" he stammered. He could see her now. She stood opposite him
still, her back to the tall wall of maize that bounded the path. Her
Hand was to her bosom; she breathed hard, and presently, while he
stared, words misshaping themselves upon his abashed lips she smiled!
Her sad, ripe mouth relaxed; all her grave face softened; pity the
profound pity of a martyr who prays for "those who know not what they
do" was alight in her face; the terrible mild mirth of those who are
assured of victory these showed themselves like an ensign. She
smiled!

He saw that smile, and at first vision he did not know it.
"Signorina," he began again hopefully; then he stopped short. He saw
again what he had seen in the village when Captain Hahn had struck
his memorable, self-revealing blow. The smile the smile of those who
choose death for the better part.

"Signorina!" His hands before his eyes hid her and her smile from
him. "Please I beg--." There was no answer. He lowered his hands, and
lifted timidly, repentantly, his face to seek pardon. But upon the
path was no one. She had parted the stout stalks of maize and
disappeared.

"God!" said Jovannic.

An energy possessed him. He charged along the narrow path between the