.

"Ethel! Ethel! Little girl--you are mine, mine, _mine_! You _do_ love
me! Darling, better than life itself, I love you. I have always loved
you! Tell me, dear, it was all a lie--about St. Ledger. Tell me you
love me, dearest!"

The bearded lips found hers, and for answer, her struggles ceased, her
body relaxed against his body, her soft arms stole timidly about his
neck, and there was a wild singing in her heart.

"And there has never been another?" she whispered a few minutes later
as she sat close beside him and watched him sip hot broth from the
thick cup. The grey eyes twinkled.

"Don't you _know_, sweetheart, that there has never been another? Why,
you have known me all my life!" But the blue eyes were serious.

"I mean, since--since you went away?" For answer the man raised his arm
and pointed toward the opposite wall.

"Hand me that mackinaw," he said. Ethel gasped and stared at him wide
eyed. "The _mackinaw_--that old striped coat next to the slicker," he
smiled.

"But----" she stifled the protest, and the man wondered at the sudden
pallor of her face.

"Hand it here," he repeated, "there is something I want to show you."

Without a word the girl crossed the room and, removing the mackinaw
from its peg, laid it upon the blanket within reach of his hand. He
drew it to him, and the girl watched in silence while he ran his
fingers over the lining.

He plunged his arm to the elbow into the ragged hole and explored to
the very corners the space between the lining and the cloth. With a
blank expression of disappointment he looked up at her.

"They are gone," he said in a low voice. "My letters and my picture.
_Your_ letters, dear--and _your_ picture----"

"Letters!" the girl gasped, leaning forward and staring into his eyes.

"Why, yes, darling. There were only a few. You wrote them when I was in
Europe. They were all I had--those few little letters, and the
photograph. You remember--the one you gave me----"

"But--I don't understand----"

"I always kept it on my desk at home," he continued, ignoring the
interruption. "And your letters, too--all sealed in a big envelope. And
the morning I went away I bound the picture to the envelope and put it
in my pocket, and I have always kept it with me.

"A thousand times, dear, I have looked at the picture. It has been my
fetish--the little amulet that keeps a man from harm. And whether or
not it has succeeded, dear heart, you must judge for yourself."