breath and a reeling movement of physical weakness.

"You go to bed, Eph," was the reply, meant to be soothing, "and I'll see
that your telegram goes from here the earliest thing in the morning.
That won't be more than six or seven hours from now."

"Six or seven hours," the poor fellow deploringly moaned; "I'll be a
good many years older by that time. Oh, it's awful to have your life go
whizzing away like mine does," and he clutched at Gerald with his
fidgety hands, with a vague idea of slowing himself by holding to a
normal human being.

Then he darted away, swaying from side to side with faintness, and
disappeared in the foliage which lined the path he was following.

Gerald watched him out of sight, and was about to resume his own
different way when the voice of Tonio Ravelli was heard, with its
Italian extra a to the short words and a heavy emphasis on the final
syllable of the long ones.

"Mistair Heath," he said, "I saw-a your affectionate par-ting weez Mees
Warriner."

Gerald had just then the mind of a culprit, and he began to explain
apologetically: "It was cowardly in me to insult a defenseless girl. She
didn't invite it. I am ashamed of myself."

He hardly realized to whom he was speaking. The two men were now walking
rapidly, Ravelli taking two strides to one of the bigger Gerald, in
order to keep alongside.

"You-a should be ashamed--you-a scoundrel."

As much of jealous fury and venomous malice as could be vocalized in six
words was in Ravelli's sudden outbreak. Gerald was astounded. He turned
upon his companion, caught him by both lapels of the coat, and shook him
so violently that his boot-soles pounded the ground. Ravelli staggered
back upon being loosed, and threw one arm around a tree to steady
himself.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," said Gerald, "but you shouldn't be reckless
with your language. Perhaps you don't know what scoundrel means in
English."

"I saw you-a kiss her hands."

"Did you? Well, do you know what I'd do to you, Ravelli, if I saw you
kiss her hands--as I did--without her consent? I'd wring your miserable
neck. Now, what are you going to do to me?"

"I am-a going to keel you!"

The blade of a knife flashed in Ravelli's right hand, as he made a
furious onslaught; but the stronger and quicker man gripped both of his
assailant's wrists, threw him violently to the ground, and tortured him
with wrenches and doublings until he had to drop the weapon. In the
encounter th