now could not be too soon!"

He flashed out hungry arms to her, but she read quicker than he moved,
and, laughing, eluded him and ran lightly down the trail.

"Come back, Frona! Come back!" he called, "I am sorry."

"No, you're not," came the answer. "And I'd be sorry if you were.
Good-night."

He watched her merge into the shadows, then entered the cabin. He had
utterly forgotten the scene within, and at the first glance it startled
him. Cariboo Blanche was crying softly to herself. Her eyes were
luminous and moist, and, as he looked, a lone tear stole down her
cheek. Bishop's face had gone serious. The Virgin had sprawled head
and shoulders on the table, amid overturned mugs and dripping lees, and
Cornell was tittubating over her, hiccoughing, and repeating vacuously,
"You're all right, my dear. You're all right."

But the Virgin was inconsolable. "O Gawd! Wen I think on wot is, an'
was . . . an' no fault of mine. No fault of mine, I tell you!" she
shrieked with quick fierceness. "'Ow was I born, I ask? Wot was my
old man? A drunk, a chronic. An' my old woman? Talk of Whitechapel!
'Oo guv a cent for me, or 'ow I was dragged up? 'Oo cared a rap, I
say? 'Oo cared a rap?"

A sudden revulsion came over Corliss. "Hold your tongue!" he ordered.

The Virgin raised her head, her loosened hair streaming about her like
a Fury's. "Wot is she?" she sneered. "Sweet'eart?"

Corliss whirled upon her savagely, face white and voice shaking with
passion.

The Virgin cowered down and instinctively threw up her hands to protect
her face. "Don't 'it me, sir!" she whined. "Don't 'it me!"

He was frightened at himself, and waited till he could gather control.
"Now," he said, calmly, "get into your things and go. All of you.
Clear out. Vamose."

"You're no man, you ain't," the Virgin snarled, discovering that
physical assault was not imminent.

But Corliss herded her particularly to the door, and gave no heed.

"A-turning ladies out!" she sniffed, with a stumble over the threshold;

"No offence," Jake Cornell muttered, pacifically; "no offence."

"Good-night. Sorry," Corliss said to Blanche, with the shadow of a
forgiving smile, as she passed out.

"You're a toff! That's wot you are, a bloomin' toff!" the Virgin
howled back as he shut the door.

He looked blankly at Del Bishop and surveyed the sodden confusion on
the table. Then he walked over and threw himself down on his bunk.
Bishop lean