r a time; but they flowed freely enough now
the first crisis was past. In utter misery and despair her head bowed in
her hands; and her brown hair, disheveled, dropped down.

Ben gazed at her with a curious mingling of emotions. It had not been
part of his plan to bring sorrow to this girl. After all, she was not in
the least responsible for her father's crimes. He had sworn to have no
regrets, no matter what innocent flesh was despoiled in order that he
might strike the guilty; yet the sight of that bowed, lovely head went
home to him very deeply indeed. She was the instrument of his vengeance,
necessary to his cause, but there was nothing to be gained by afflicting
her needlessly. At least, he could give her his pity. It would not
weaken him, dampen his fiery resolution, to give her that.

As he guided his craft he felt growing compassion for her; yet it was a
personal pity only and brought no regrets that he had acted as he did.

"I wish you wouldn't cry," he said, rather quietly.

Amazed beyond expression at the words, Beatrice looked up. For the
instant her woe was forgotten in the astounding fact that she had won
compassion from this cast-iron man in the stern.

"I'll try not to," she told him, her dark eyes ineffably beautiful with
their luster of tears. "I don't see why I should try--why I should try
to do anything you ask me to--but yet I will--"

Further words came to him, and he could not restrain them. "You're sort
of--the goat, Beatrice," he told her soberly. "It was said, long ago,
that the sins of the father must be visited upon the children; and maybe
that's the way it is with you. I can't help but feel sorry--that you had
to undergo this--so that I could reach your father and his men. If you
had seen old Ezram lying there--the life gone from, his kind, gray old
face--the man who brought me home and gave me my one chance--maybe you'd
understand."

They were speechless a long time, Beatrice watching the swift leap of
the shore line, Ben guiding, with steady hand, the canoe. Neither of
them could guess at what speed they traveled this first wild half-hour;
but he knew that the long miles--so heart-breaking with their ridges and
brush thickets to men and horses--were whipping past them each in a few,
little breaths. Ever they plunged deeper into the secret, hushed heart
of the wild--a land unknown to the tread of white men, a region so still
and changeless that it seemed excluded from the reign and la