_there_. I knew that one man
entered the wood a few moments ago, and that two men and four horses
remained outside."

"That's true," said Teresa to Curson excitedly--"that's true. He knows
all. He can see without looking, hear without listening. He--he"--she
stammered, colored, and stopped.

The two men had faced each other. Curson, after his first good-natured
impulse, had retained no wish to regain Teresa, whom he felt he no
longer loved, and yet who, for that very reason perhaps, had awakened
his chivalrous instincts. Low, equally on his side, was altogether
unconscious of any feeling which might grow into a passion, and prevent
him from letting her go with another if for her own safety. They were
both men of a certain taste and refinement. Yet, in spite of all this,
some vague instinct of the baser male animal remained with them, and
they were moved to a mutually aggressive attitude in the presence of
the female.

One word more, and the opening chapter of a sylvan Iliad might have
begun. But this modern Helen saw it coming, and arrested it with an
inspiration of feminine genius. Without being observed, she disengaged
her knife from her bosom and let it fall as if by accident. It struck
the ground with the point of its keen blade, bounded and rolled between
them. The two men started and looked at each other with a foolish air.
Curson laughed.

"I reckon she can take care of herthelf," he said, extending his hand
to Low. "I'm off. But if I'm wanted _she'll_ know where to find me."
Low took the proffered hand, but neither of the two men looked at
Teresa. The reserve of antagonism once broken, a few words of caution,
advice, and encouragement passed between them, in apparent
obliviousness of her presence or her personal responsibility. As Curson
at last nodded a farewell to her, Low insisted upon accompanying him as
far as the horses, and in another moment she was again alone.

She had saved a quarrel between them at the sacrifice of herself, for
her vanity was still keen enough to feel that this exhibition of her
old weakness had degraded her in their eyes, and, worse, had lost the
respect her late restraint had won from Low. They had treated her like
a child or a crazy woman, perhaps even now were exchanging criticisms
upon her--perhaps pitying her! Yet she had prevented a quarrel, a
fight, possibly the death of either one or the other of these men who
despised her, for none better knew than she the trivial begi