, wondering why any one in his right mind could
so curse his fellow beings. She glanced toward the man upon the cot.
Had he been reading those words ere he laid the book aside? she mused.
What connection had that curse with him? Did he hate his fellow men as
Timon did of old? Perhaps he, too, had been wronged, and had fled to
this lonely place. She recalled what he had said about those starving
Loyalists. Surely there must be some good reason for his intense
bitterness.

As she thus sat there gazing dreamily into the fire, the man on the cot
stirred, uttered a slight moan, opened his eyes and looked at the girl.

"Ah, so you've been keeping watch, have you?" he asked. "Pretty lonely
job, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Jean brightly replied, laying aside the book and rising
to her feet. "I have been looking at your books. My, what a reader
you must be! But why do you read such stuff as that?"

"What stuff? I hope you don't call Shakespeare's works 'stuff.'"

"Oh, I am merely referring to Timon's curse. It is terrible. But,
there, I don't want to talk about it. Let me make you a cup of tea.
That will do you more good than any book."

"Make it good and strong," the man reminded. "And while you are about
it you might as well bring me a noggin of rum. I haven't had any since
yesterday morning."

The invalid drank the tea first, and pronounced it excellent. He let
the rum remain by his side while he filled and lighted his pipe.

"Did you have a good sleep?" Jean asked as she again sat down by the
table. "I hope you feel better."

"I had a fairly good sleep, Miss, although the pain in my side is no
better. However, I am used to suffering. So you don't care for
Shakespeare, eh?"

"I didn't say that," Jean defended. "But I don't like reading those
terrible passages about curses and such like."

"But I like them, Miss. They just suit me, and I feed on them."

"How can you? It is more than I can understand."

"You would, though, if you had been treated as I have been. I am
Timon, and his sufferings were no greater than mine. His so-called
friends were false to him, and so were mine. He cursed them, and I
have made his curses mine. I am really Timon."

"Suppose I call you 'Timon,' then," Jean suggested with a smile. "I
don't know what else to call you, for I do not know your name. 'Mr.
Timon' sounds very well, does it not?"

"Yes, you may call me anything you like. I suppose Timon is as go