idea of who you are and
where you same from?"

He paused for an answer--and she smiled at him. There was something
pathetically sweet in that smile. It brought a queer lump into his
throat, and for a space he forgot Bram.

"You don't understand a cussed word of it, do you?" he said, taking her
hand in both his own and holding it closely for a moment. "Not a word.
But we're getting the drift of things--slowly. I know you've been here
quite a while, and that morning, noon and night since the chasse-galere
brought you down from the moon you've had nothing to put your little
teeth into but meat. Probably without salt, too. I saw how you wanted
to throw yourself down on that pile of stuff on the floor. Let's have
breakfast!"

He led her into the outer room, and eagerly she set to work helping him
gather the things from the floor. He felt that an overwhelming load had
been lifted from his heart, and he continued to tell her about it while
he hurried the preparation of the breakfast for which he knew she was
hungering. He did not look at her too closely. All at once it had
dawned upon him that her situation must be tremendously more
embarrassing than his own. He felt, too, the tingle of a new excitement
in his veins. It was a pleasurable sensation, something which he did
not pause to analyze just at present. Only he knew that it was because
she had told him as plainly as she could that Bram had not harmed her.

"And if he HAD I guess you'd have let me smash his brains out when he
was bending over the stove, wouldn't you?" he said, stirring the mess
of desiccated potato he was warming in one of his kit-pans. He looked
up to see her eyes shining at him, and her lips parted. She was
delightfully pretty. He knew that every nerve in her body was straining
to understand him. Her braid had slipped over her shoulder. It was as
thick as his wrist, and partly undone. He had never dreamed that a
woman's hair could hold such soft warm fires of velvety gold. Suddenly
he straightened himself and tapped his chest, an inspiring thought
leaping into his head.

"I am Philip Raine," he said. "Philip Raine--Philip Raine--Philip
Raine--"

He repeated the name over and over again, pointing each time to
himself. Instantly light flashed into her face. It was as if all at
once they had broken through the barrier that had separated them. She
repeated his name, slowly, clearly, smiling at him, and then with both
hands at her breast, she said: