indeed, he
railed at her as he had done when he had come upon her on the river
bank. But for the most part his attitude answered over and over the
question Ygerne had implied when first she had come to his side; his
love was greater than his hate.

Then there came a day when David Drennen was the old David Drennen once
more. He awoke with clear eyes and clear brain. He saw both Marshall
Sothern and Ygerne Bellaire. He closed his eyes swiftly. He must
think. As he thought, remembering a little, guessing more, a hard
smile, the old bitter smile came to his lips. He opened his eyes again
and lifted himself upon his elbow. The eyes which met Sothern's were
as hard as steel; they ignored the girl entirely.

"I've been sick?" he said coolly. "Well, I'm not sick any longer. In
a day or so I'll be around again. Then I'll pay you for your trouble."

And seeing from the look in Sothern's eyes that the rude insult had
registered he laughed and turned his face away from them. Sothern and
the girl stepped outside together, without a word.

"He is just plain brute!" the girl cried with passionate contempt.

The old man shook his head gravely. He laid his hand very gently upon
her shoulder, his unexpected familiarity drawing a quick questioning
look from her.

"Little girl," he said thoughtfully, "he's just plain man, that's all;
man hammered and beaten awry by the vicious little gods of mischance.
If there's anything good left in him it's his love for you. There is a
time coming when I am going to wield the destinies of one of the
greatest corporations in the West. My responsibility then, compared to
yours now, will be as a grain of sand to Old Ironhead up yonder."

CHAPTER XIII

YGERNE'S ANSWER

"The perfume of roses, of little red roses;
(Thou art a rose, oh, so sweet, _corazon_!)
The laugh of the water who falls in the fountain;
(Thou art the fountain of love, _corazon_!)
The brightness of stars, of little stars golden;
(_Estrella de mi vida_! My little life star!)
The shine of the moon through the magnolia tree;
I am so sad till thou come, _mi amor_!
_Dios_! It is sweet to be young and to love!
More sweet than wine . . . to be young and to love!"

There was tenderness in the voice. Each note was like the pure sound
of a little gold bell struck softly with a tiny golden hammer.

There had been determination in David Drennen's eye, in his carriage,
in his strid