oss the Island to the hut,
which he had found on his landing. Intuitively, he knew Ellen
Boreland's opinion of him. He smiled sometimes at the grim humor of
the situation: He, who had tried to get away from the society of women
found himself now on the mercy and generosity of a woman who did not
like him. He was dependent on her, by Jove, for every stitch of
clothing on him, for even the soap that he used--for his very
toothbrush. Soon, he knew, she would be giving him provisions so that
he might cook his own meals on the other side of the Island. She
didn't want him around her, or her sister. It piqued him to be felt
unwanted--aroused in him a desire to show her----

His innate honesty compelled him to admit that Ellen knew him in no
hero's light. Still he could not help a feeling of bitterness at the
relieved look that came, unconsciously, to her face each evening when
he turned, reluctantly, from the homelike group on the cabin porch, to
take the lonely little zig-zag trail up the hillside.

His mind went back now to a scene of the evening before. After supper
just as he was preparing to leave. Jean had taken her violin from its
case.

"I'm going to play, tonight, Mr. Harlan. Are you too tired to stay a
while?" she asked, looking at him with friendly eyes.

Too quickly Ellen had interrupted:

"No, no, Jean. Don't keep this poor, tired fellow from his bed. I'm
sure he wants to go to sleep as soon as possible. And here, Mr.
Harlan,"--she advanced toward him thrusting into his arms a blanket and
a pillow,--"I found this extra bedding for your bunk today. . . .
There now, tuck it under your arm, like this. . . . Good-night. . . .
Sleep well. . . . _Good-night_." Her voice was kind as she smiled up
into his face, but there was no mistaking her meaning. With shame and
resentment in his heart he had turned up the hillside trail.

On the brow of the hill he had stopped and flung the bedding angrily on
the ground, himself upon it. Was he a criminal that he should be
debarred from an hour's pleasure in the society of the only other human
beings on this Island? Suddenly he felt that he hated Ellen Boreland.
He hated all women. He hated all the world. The longing for strong
liquor swept him, shaking him like a leaf. He could feel his chin
under his soft young beard quiver. He despised himself for a weakling
and a fool. He tightened the clasped hold of his arms about his knees
and dropped his head u