she swayed
forward unsteadily; and in an instant her face was hidden against his
shoulder, her whole frame shaken with soundless sobs.

A woman in tears sets even a case-hardened man at a disadvantage; and
Lenox, confronted with the phenomenon for the first time in his life,
experienced a sense of helpless bewilderment, coupled with a vague
conviction of his own brutality in having brought this happy-hearted
wife of his to such a pass. He could not guess that after a week of
ceaseless tension, played out with no little fortitude, this moment of
unrestraint came as a pure relief to her overwrought nerves; a relief
that verged upon ecstasy, since her husband's arm was round her, his
hand mechanically stroking her hair.

"Hold up, hold up," he urged her gently. "This sort of thing will
never do."

But control, once lost, is ill to regain. His words produced no
visible affect, for in her momentary abandonment, she could not see his
face; or guess at the struggle that was enacting behind its curtain of
self-mastery. And now, to discomfiture was added an overpowering
temptation to trample on all scruples of conscience; to take that which
was his, without further let or hindrance; and put an end to their
distracting situation once for all.

"Quita, . . . my darling wife . . . !" he broke out desperately. "For
Heaven's sake pull yourself together. You are torturing me past
endurance. Do you suppose it is an easy thing . . . to let you go?"

She raised her head at that, compressing her lips to still their tremor.

"Forgive me, . . . dearest. It was stupid of me to make a fuss. I
will go now; and I promise not to behave like this again."

She deliberately drew his head down to her own; and they kissed, once.
Then she left him, something hurriedly; and he stood transfixed looking
after her, till the falling flap of the tent hid her from view.

There could be no thought of sleep for Eldred Lenox that night.

Till the moon slipped behind the pines, and the sentinel snow-peak in
the North caught, and flung back, the first glimmer of dawn, he paced
the empty glade from end to end. His mouth and throat were parched.
His every nerve clamoured for the accustomed narcotic. But pipe and
tobacco-pouch reposed in his breast-pocket--untouched.

CHAPTER XIII.

"Ah, Love, but a day,
And the world has changed!"
--Browning.

An early return journey had been advocated by all experienced weather
pr