anted Esmay to be reasonable, forgot
the faith owed to a friend and the vengeance sworn against an enemy,
forgot times and seasons and the peril in which they stood, forgot all
things save that he was a man and she was a woman, and that he had
suddenly come to desire her above all else in life.

"A woman, and some day he would come to know what that meant." Now he
knew.

Esmay stood waiting for the answer to her question.

"You cannot go alone," he said, in a half-whisper, "and your sister's
protection is useless. You will have to trust yourself to me."

Esmay had turned away her head, but a treacherous mirror intercepted the
confession in her eyes and flung it back to him who had compelled its
utterance. Now a man may never yet have seen that look on a woman's
face, but he need not fear lest he fail to recognize it when at last his
time comes. Constans saw, and suddenly the primeval passion of the world
seized and shook him. "I want you," he said, and would have taken
her--then stopped, confounded and appalled.

Through the open window came the sharp, staccato yelp of a hound at
field. Yes; the dogs were out, and already they were at work, ranging in
great semicircles, alert with the joy of the chase. There was Blazer,
with his tawny muzzle, and behind him Fangs, the great, black bitch,
half mastiff and half bloodhound, the saliva dripping from her jaws as
she ran. Constans drew a deep breath as he watched them. Already they
were nearing the pavilion; in a few seconds at the farthest they would
be giving tongue upon the striking of his scent. He must decide quickly
then, and he turned to Esmay.

A black suspicion gathered in Constans's mind as he looked upon her mute
agony and misinterpreted it.

"What is it?" he asked, with rising anger, but she answered no word. The
memory of the ancient betrayal rushed back upon him.

"Perhaps another bracelet of carbuncles?" She shrank back as though from
a blow.

"Esmay!" he said, roughly, and shook her by the shoulders, not being in
fear for himself but intent upon knowing the truth, however incredible.
Then as she still gave no sign he flung her from him and strode away,
the flame of a fierce anger in his heart. To die here--the base fate of
a runaway slave upon whose trail the master has set his hounds--no, it
should not be! Yet, with only his bare hands, for there was not even a
billet of wood lying about--well, if it must be-- Then he bethought him
of the boat that