ty fragrance of the dark,
wild wake-robin underfoot. The tremendous rocks were covered with the
most exquisite forms of lichen in all their varied shades of richness
and delicacy.

He began carefully removing portions here and there to examine under his
microscope, when he noticed, almost crushed under his foot, a pale
purple orchid like the one Cassandra had placed on his table. Always
thinking of her, he stooped suddenly to lift the frail thing, and at the
instant a rifle-shot rang out in the still air, and a bullet meant for
his heart cut across his shoulders like a trail of fire and flattened
itself on the rock where he had been at work. At the same moment, with a
bound of tiger-like ferocity and swiftness, one leaped toward him from a
near mass of laurel, and he found himself grappling for life or death
with the man who fired the shot.

Not a word was spoken. The quick, short breathing, the scuffling of feet
among the leaves, and the snapping of dead twigs underfoot were the only
sounds. Had the youth been a trained wrestler, David would have known
what to expect, and would have been able to use method in his defence.
As it was, he had to deal with an enraged creature who fought with the
desperate instinct of an antagonist who fights to the death. He knew
that the odds were against him, and felt rising within him a wild
determination to win the combat, and, thinking only of Cassandra, to
settle thus the vexed question, to fight with the blind passion and the
primitive right of the strongest to win his mate. He gathered all his
strength, his good English mettle and nerve, and grappled with a grip of
steel.

This way and that, twisting, turning, stumbling on the uneven ground,
with set teeth and faces drawn and fierce, they struggled, and all the
time the light tweed coat on David's back showed a deeper stain from his
heart's blood, and his face grew paler and his breath shorter. Yet a joy
leaped within him. It was thus he might save her, either to win her or
to die for her, for should Frale kill him, she would turn from him in
hopeless horror, and David, even in dying, would save her.

Suddenly the battle was ended. Thryng's foot turned, on a rounded stone,
causing him to lose his foothold. At the same instant, with terrible
forward impetus, Frale closed with him, bending him backward until his
head struck the lichen-covered rock. The purple orchid was bruised
beneath him, and its color deepened with his blood.