hivalrous young man, who had never before
had time to allow the softer and more romantic elements of his nature
any chance of expression. It may be that for the present Minola was to
him but the first suggestion of an embodiment of all the vague,
floating thoughts and visions of love and womanhood that must now and
then cross the spiritual horizon of every young man, no matter how
closely he may be occupied with colonial affairs and the condition of
the colored races. The hero of a French story, whereof there is not
otherwise over-much good to be said, speaks with a feeling as poetic as
it is true when he says that in the nightingale's song he heard the
story of the love that he ought to have known, but which had not yet
come to him. Perhaps in the eyes and in the voice of Minola Victor
Heron unconsciously found this story told for him.

However that might be, it is certain that Heron found a curious
satisfaction this night in passing again and again before Minola's
door, and making believe to himself as if he were guarding her against
danger. He might have remained on guard in this way, heaven knows how
long--for, as we know, he was not fond of early going to bed--but that
he suddenly "was aware," as the old writers put it, of another watcher
as well as himself. It was unmistakable. Another man came up and passed
slowly once or twice under the same windows, and on the side of the
street where Heron had put himself on guard. Then the new comer,
observing, no doubt, that he was not alone, had crossed to the other
side of the street, and Heron thought he was only a chance passer and
was gone altogether. Presently, however, he crossed the road again, and
stood a short distance away from Heron as if he were watching him. Now,
though Victor Heron was not a lover, he had just as much objection as
any lover could have to being seen by observant eyes when watching
under a girl's window. The mere thought recalled him at once to
chilling commonplace. He was for going away that moment; all the
delight was gone out of his watching. But he was a little curious to
know if the new comer were really only a casual stranger whom his
movements had stirred into idle curiosity. So he went straightway down
the street and passed the unwelcome intruder. He felt sure the face of
the man was known to him, although he could not at first recall to mind
the person's identity. He felt sure, too, by the way in which the man
looked at him and then tur