t to construct the story of her life before she
had come into this land where women from her obvious station in life
did not come; he wrestled with the enigma of her character,
unconsciously striving to find extenuation for the evil he deemed was
in her.

"We are a bad lot here," he muttered once after long puzzling. "A bad
lot. Some of us are bad because we are weak and the world has tempted.
Some of us are bad because we are strong and the world has driven.
Some of us are cruel, like steel; some of us are treacherous, like
poison. Where do you fit in, Ygerne Bellaire?"

Once only had he met her face to face on the street, many men marking
their meeting. Coming unexpectedly upon her he had been tugged two
ways by his emotions, a division and sign of weakness which was no
usual thing in him. But he had caught a quick expression upon her face
in time, and had seen that she was going to pass him with no sign of
recognition. He had deliberately turned his back upon her. He had
heard a man laugh, and a little spurt of venomous pleasure leaped up in
his heart as he knew that she too had heard and as he pictured the
blood whipped into her face.

And now again he came upon her all unexpectedly; this time she was
alone and there were no men near to see. He stopped, staring down at
her insolently. She was sitting upon a fallen log, a mile from the
Settlement down the Little MacLeod, her eyes fixed upon the racing
water with that expression which tells that they see nothing of what is
before them. She had not heard him until he came quite close to her.
She started as she looked up, ready upon the instant to leap to her
feet. Then she settled back quite calmly, an insolence in her eyes not
unlike his. She waited for him to speak, and presently, again
conscious of the tugging two ways, he did so.

"There's a man in camp named Charlie Madden," he said with a
viciousness which evidently puzzled her until he had gone on. "You've
met him, I dare say?"

"Yes," she answered coolly. "He asked me to have dinner with him last
night."

Drennen's laugh jeered at her.

"You don't burn daylight, do you?" he sneered. "The man has money; he
is young; he looks quite the pink-cheeked, impressionable pup, as good
as a gilded youth on Broadway. How did he accept the wonder tale of
the virgin purity of your red lips, Ygerne?"

"I didn't accept his invitation," she retorted as coolly as before.

"Why not?" he said sharply, a