a more
beseeching look? Was it that I again was at her side, that old
associations awakened? Or was it because she was keen, shrewd and in
control of herself, able to make plans to her own advantage? I cannot
tell as to that. But I saw her face soften, and her voice was gentle
when she spoke.

"What do you mean, Jack?" she asked.

If there was not love and caress in her tones, then I could not detect
the counterfeit. I reiterate, if I should live a thousand years, I
should know nothing of women, nothing. We men are but toys with them. As
in life and in sex man is in nature's plan no master, no chooser, but
merely an incident; so, indeed, I believe that he is thus always with a
woman--only an incident. With women we are toys. They play with us. We
never read them. They are the mystery of the world. When they would
deceive us it is beyond all our art to read them. Never shall man, even
the wisest, fathom the shallowest depths of a woman's heart. Their
superiors? God! we are their slaves, and the stronger we are as men, the
more are we enslaved.

Had it been left to my judgment to pronounce, I should have called her
emotion now a genuine one. Mocking, cynical, contemptuous she might have
been, and it would have suited my own mood. But what was it now on the
face of Grace Sheraton, girl of a proud family, woman I once had kissed
here at this very place until she blushed--kissed until she
warmed--until she--

But now I know she changed once again, and I know that this time I read
her look aright. It was pathos on her face, and terror. Her eye was that
of the stricken antelope in dread of the pursuer.

"Jack," she whispered, "don't leave me! Jack, _I shall need you!_"

Before I could resolve any questions in my mind, I heard behind us the
sound of approaching hoofs, and there rode up to the gate her brother,
Harry Sheraton, who dismounted and hitched his horse near mine, saluting
me as he pushed open the great gate. It was the first time I had seen
him since my return.

"Am I intruding?" he asked. "I'm awfully glad to see you, Cowles--I
heard below you were home. You've had a long journey."

"Yes," I answered, "longer than I had planned, by many weeks. And now I
am glad to be back once more. No--" in answer to his turning toward his
horse as though he would leave us. "You are looking well, Harry. Indeed,
everything in old Virginia is good to see again."

"Wish I could be as polite with you. Have you been sick? And