ng him to a bench of twisted grape-vines from which
they might look down upon the river. "Sit down," she said, "and tell me
why poor Piney?"

"Well," he sat down and looked at the river, half-frowning, "it has
seemed to me--I've had a notion--oh, I don't know. I suppose it is not
poor Piney after all."

"Tell me," she insisted, "tell me what you started to tell me."

"Well, it has seemed to me ever since I first met Piney that he was in
the way of trouble," he dashed on more abruptly, thinking only of Piney
for a moment--"I have come to love that boy. I find myself clinging to
him. I think it is because he stands to me for the spirit of my own
boyhood; perhaps that, perhaps because he stands for the spirit of the
woods he loves; because he stands for simplicity, honesty, spontaneity.
At any rate he is rare, what with his musical gift and his high melody
of living--and--oh well, I've sometimes felt sorry that he is not all
wood-spirit, that he is part human." The characteristics that had made
Steering stand too determinedly to suit Crittenton Madeira made him
forge ahead determinedly now. "Piney would be apt to suffer less if he
were wholly the sylvan, irresponsible creature, the faun, he sometimes
seems to be. But, alas, Piney has a man's heart, Miss Madeira. He will
have to suffer for that, for he will have to love. That's why 'poor'
Piney; because he will have to love."

"Would that be so terrible?" The flash from the amber eyes that she
turned up to him made the world go zig-zagging through a long space
while Steering looked on with a great tremulous intake of breath. Then
he steadied again to what he wanted to say to her and could say to her
for Piney's sake.

"It would be for Piney. Piney is going to love hopelessly," he saw that
a little shiver caught her and he was glad of it. "Yes, it would be
terrible to love hopelessly, wouldn't it?" he said, to strengthen his
hidden appeal for Piney. He wanted to make her realise what she was
doing for Piney, realise that for sheer kindness, kindness as to a dumb
thing, she should never let the lad come near her. He had forgotten the
woman in her when he began to formulate that appeal. She laughed a
light, mocking laugh.

"I believe that you think that Piney loves me!" she cried. "Piney, the
spirit of the oaks! the song of the night-wind! Piney suffer! Piney
love!" Steering was sorry to hear the note of evasion in her voice. No
woman, he remembered, too late, could be