pped into an easier position and,
seated upon the floor at the edge of the low bunk, drew his head close
against her breast. At the touch--the feel of this strong man lying
helpless in her arms--the long-pent yearning of her soul burst the
studied bonds of its restraint and through her whole body swept the
torrent of a mighty love.

Resistlessly it engulfed every nerve and fiber of her--wave upon wave
of wild, primitive passion surged through her veins until her heart
seemed bursting with the sweet, intense pain of it. Fiercely, in the
hot, quick flame of passion, she strained him to her breast and her
lips sought his in an abandon of feverish kisses.

And in that moment she knew that, in all the world of men, this man was
_her_ man. Always he had dominated her life--always she had known this
great love, had fought against it, and feared it--and always she had
held it in check.

But now, alone in the night, with the man lying helpless in her arms,
this mighty passion welled to the bursting of restraint.

Her heart, subservient no longer to the will of her brain nor to creeds
nor the tenets of convention, had this night come into its own, and she
loved with the hot, savage mate-love of her pristine forebears.

The man's lips moved feebly upon hers and the closed eyelids fluttered.
The girl sprang to the stove and returned a second later bearing a
thick porcelain cup steaming with strong, black coffee.

She raised his head upon her arm and, holding the cup, let part of its
contents trickle between his lips. He strangled weakly and swallowed.

Again she tilted the cup and again he swallowed. "My darling! My
darling!" she sobbed as the fluttering eyelids half opened and the lips
moved, and then leaned close to catch their faintest murmur.

"Jeanne," he whispered, "Jeanne, little girl----" and then the lips
ceased to move, he shuddered slightly through the length of him, his
eyes closed, and he slept.

The thick cup thudded heavily upon the floor and its contents splashed
unheeded over her gown, as the girl sat motionless, staring past the
bunk at the blank wall of logs.

The little nickel-plated alarm-clock ticked loudly in sharp, insistent
threes, as she sat, white of face, with set lips and unwinking eyes
staring stonily at the parallel logs of the wall.

Centuries of supercultivation and the refinement of breeding were
concentrated in that white-lipped, cold-eyed stare, which is the
heart-mask of the _recher