oul of a woman, that he had found his way to that soul through an
unbeautiful envelope, that so far there was not a flutter of sense. He
was to love in a new way, which should, by exquisite stages, blend with
the old. There could be no surprises, no enigmatic delights, but
vicariously he could be young again. Then he wondered if he were a
vampire feeding on the youth of another. For a moment he faced his soul
in horrified wonder, then reasoned that he was little past his meridian
in years; that a man's will, if favoured by Circumstance, can do much of
razing and rebuilding with the inner life. No, he concluded with healthy
disgust, he was not that most sickening tribute to lechery, an old vein
yawning for transfusion. He was merely a man ready to begin life again
before it was too late. This girl had not the beauty he had demanded as
his prerogative in woman, but she had individuality, brains, and all
womanliness. Her shyness and pride were her greatest charms to him: he
would be the first and the last to get behind the barriers. Such women
loved only once.

She turned her head suddenly and met his eyes.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

"I have been wondering what that huge pile is behind you."

"That is a wood-rat's nest."

"And you are not afraid of him? Extraordinary woman!"

"He is much more afraid of me. I am very afraid of house-rats."

"And you sit here often? You are not afraid of snakes?"

"There are none in these woods. They always retreat before
people--civilisation. Everyone drives through here, but scarcely anyone
goes through the back woods; the roads are so bad--"

"Hush!"

The sound of wheels, faint for a moment, grew more distinct; with it
mingled the sound of voices. A heavy char-a-banc rolled by, and the
words of Tiny and Ila came distinctly to the two in hiding.

"They will have a long and fruitless search," said Trennahan,
contentedly. "We are going to stay here and become acquainted."

And they did not move for two hours. For a time Trennahan made her talk,
learning almost all there was to know. He even drew forth the tattered
shreds of the caballero, who had been little more than a matter of
garments, and a confession of her long and passionate desire to be
beautiful. The story ended with the lonely and terrible surrender of her
religion. He was profoundly interested. Once or twice he was appalled.
Did he take this woman, he must assume responsibility for every part of
her