it, but I
doubt you will. I feel there are matters bigger than the game, or than
you, or me, or anyone else. And I do not believe in your bird of red
plumage; I don't believe it exists. It may have done so, but it doesn't
now."

She also got to her feet, and Tarboe was so near her she could feel his
hot breath on her cheek.

"No, it doesn't exist now," she repeated, "and the pursuer is not
pursued. You have more imagination than belongs to a mere man of
business--you're an inexperienced poet."

He caught her hand and drew it to his breast. "The only poetry I know
is the sound of your voice in the wind, the laughter of your lips in the
sun, the delight of your body in the heavenly flowers. Yes, I've drunk
you in the wild woods; I've trailed you on the river; I've heard you in
the grinding storm--always the same, the soul of all beautiful things.
Junia, you shall not put me away from you. You shall be mine, and
you and I together shall win our way to great ends. We will have
opportunity, health, wealth and prosperity. Isn't it worth while?"

"Yes," she answered after a moment, "but it cannot be with you, my
friend."

She withdrew her fingers and stepped back; she made a gesture of
friendly repulsion. "You have said all that can be said, you have gifts
greater than you yourself believe; and I have been tempted; but it is
no use, there are deeper things than luxuries and the magazines of
merchandise--much deeper. No, no, I cannot marry you; if you were as
rich as Midas, as powerful as Caesar, I would not marry you--never,
never, never."

"You love another," he said boldly. "You love Carnac Grier."

"I do not love you--isn't that enough?"

"Almost--almost enough," he said, embarrassed.

CHAPTER XXXI. THIS WAY HOME

All Junia had ever felt of the soul of things was upon her as she
arranged flowers and listened to the church bells ringing.

"They seem to be always ringing," she said to herself, as she lightly
touched the roses. "It must be a Saint's Day--where's Denzil? Ah, there
he is in the garden! I'll ask him."

Truth is, she was deceiving herself. She wanted to talk with Denzil
about all that had happened of late, and he seemed, somehow, to avoid
her. Perhaps he feared she had given her promise to Tarboe who had, as
Denzil knew, spent an hour with her the night before. As this came to
Denzil's brain, he felt a shiver go through him. Just then he heard
Junia's footsteps, and saw her coming towards him