art of a
woman is strangely hungry for love."

"I understand," said Ralph, "and, believe me, I do not blame you.
Perhaps it was the best thing you could do. Let me ask you of the man.
You said, I think, that he still lives?"

"Yes." Miss Evelina's voice was very low.

"He is well and happy--prosperous?"

"Yes."

"Do you know where he lives?"

"Yes."

"Has he ever suffered at all from his cowardice, his shirking?"

"How should I know?"

"Then, Miss Evelina," said Ralph, his voice thick with passion and his
hands tightly clenched, "will you let me go to him? For the honour of
men, I should like to punish this one brute. I think I could present
an argument that even he might understand!"

The temptation became insistent. The sheathed dagger was in Evelina's
hands; she had only to draw forth the glittering steel. A vengeance
more subtle than she had ever dared to dream of was hers to command.

"Tell me his name," breathed Ralph. "Only tell me his name!"

Miss Evelina threw back her beautiful head proudly. "No," she said,
firmly, "I will not. Go," she cried, pointing uncertainly to the door.
"For the love of God, go!"

XXI

The Poppies Claim Their Own

It was dusk, and Anthony Dexter sat in the library. Through the day,
he had wearied himself to the point of exhaustion, but his phantom
pursuer had not tired. The veiled figure of Evelina had kept pace
easily with his quick, nervous stride. At the point on the river
road, where he had met her for the first time, she had, indeed,
seemed to go ahead of him and wait for him there.

Night brought no relief. By a singular fatality, he could see her in
darkness as plainly as in sunshine, and even when his eyes were
closed, she hovered persistently before him. Throughout his drugged
sleep she moved continuously; he never dreamed save of her.

In days gone by, he had been certain that he was the victim of an
hallucination, but now, he was not so sure. He would not have sworn
that the living Evelina was not eternally in his sight. Time and
time again he had darted forward quickly to catch her, but she
swiftly eluded him. "If," he thought, gritting his teeth, "I could
once get my hands upon her----"

His fists dosed tightly, then, by a supreme effort of will, he put
the maddening thought away. "I will not add murder to my sins," he
muttered; "no, by Heaven, I will not!"

By a whimsical change of his thought, he conceived himself dead and