e, as you and I. Come, you can't be angry
to-day. I'm too happy. You don't really care about ducks anyhow, do
you? I want to talk. I'm in fairyland alone with the old sweetheart of
my girlish dreams! And you're ten times better looking than you were
then, Jim."

Stuart broke into a boyish laugh, and gave up to the charm of her
chatter.

For hours they sat laughing and joking. The years rolled back, the
fevered life of the great city faded, and they were boy and girl again.

As the sun was sinking in a sea of scarlet they were startled by the
approach of the tender.

The guide took up the decoys, and made fast their boat to tow them back
to the yacht.

His comment on the day's work was brief:

"Great sport!"

He winked at Stuart, grasped the tiller of the tender and signalled to
the man at the engine to let her go.

The old man was unusually quiet in the crew's quarters that night. It
was nine o'clock before he startled the cook with a sudden remark:

"Gee, but she's a beauty!"

"Who's a beauty?"

"Sometimes he called her 'Nan,' sometimes he called her 'Dianner.'"

"Oh!"

"You know what I'd like to do?"

"No, what?"

"She's so purty, I feel that I want to put out one finger--just like
that--and tech her ter see ef she'd fly!"

"Oh, hell!" the cook sneered. "Her wings ain't sprouted yet; wait till
you see her riled."

For five days Bivens stuck to his bed with dogged determination, and
each day Stuart went out with Nan.

Never had she been more resistlessly charming. With tireless fancy he
watched the wind blow the ringlets of black hair across her rosy
cheeks, while her deep eyes sparkled with joy. Sometimes he imagined
her the daughter of Venus suddenly risen from the sea, the dim roar of
whose surf he could hear behind the white sands of the beach. Each day
she grew more and more dependent on him, until her whole life seemed to
move only at his command. Each day their association grew in tender
intimacy and every fear that had stirred his heart at first was lulled
at last to sleep.

CHAPTER III

THE TEMPTER'S VOICE

On the sixth day Bivens rose early and declared that he would try the
ducks. The day before had been, in the local vernacular, a "weather
breeder"--a day of breathless seas, a soft haze hanging from the sky, a
lazy, sensuous, dreamy, alluring tenderness in the air.

The barometer was falling now and dark, snowy-looking clouds were
piling up on the western horizon. A b