a particle of our business."

And Hinton, after a year of rebellion and struggle and despair, had at
last acknowledged a superior officer and declared himself ready to take
whatever orders came.

As he lay in the hammock he turned his head at every noise within the
house, and listened. He had become amazingly dependent upon a soft,
drawling voice which day after day read to him for hours at a time. At
first he had met Guinevere's offers of help with moody irritability.

"Pray, don't bother about me," he had said. "I am quite able to look
after myself; besides, I like to be alone."

But her unobtrusive sympathy and childish frankness soon conquered his
pride. She read to him from books she did not understand, played games
with him, and showed him new walks in the woods. And incidentally, she
revealed to him her struggling, starving, wistful soul that no one else
had ever discovered.

She never talked to him of her love affair, but she dwelt vaguely on the
virtues of duty and loyalty and self-sacrifice. The facts in the case
were supplied by Mrs. Gusty.

Hinton looked at his watch again, and groaned when he found it was only
a quarter past two. Feeling his way cautiously along the porch and down
the steps, he moved idly about the yard. He could not distinguish
Menelaus from Paris now, and Helen of Troy was no longer to be
recognized.

At long intervals a vehicle rattled past, leaving a cloud of dust
behind. The air shimmered with the heat, and the low, insistent buzzing
of bees beat on his ears mercilessly. He wondered impatiently why
Guinevere did not come down, then checked himself as he remembered the
constant demands he made upon her time.

At three o'clock he could stand it no longer. He felt a queer, dull
sensation about his head, and he constantly drew his hand across his
eyes to dispel the impression of a mist before them.

"Oh, Miss Guinevere!" he called up to her window. "Would you mind coming
down just for a little while!"

Guinevere's head appeared so promptly that it was evident it had been
lying on the window-sill.

"Is it time for your medicine?" she asked guiltily. "Mother said it
didn't come till four."

"Oh, no," said Hinton, with forced cheerfulness; "it isn't that. You
remember the old song, don't you, 'When a man's afraid, a beautiful maid
is a cheering sight to see'?"

She disappeared from the window, and in a moment joined him behind the
screen of honeysuckles on the porch. The ham