o, even
peering into the huts connected with my bungalow--new in his experience.

"'And you are all alone except for your black men?' he asked in an eager
tone.

"'No, I have Mr. Judson with me. He is away this week--and a young
Belgian officer--and--I--'

"'Yes, I remember Mr. Judson,' he interrupted. 'I met him at the landing
below. I should have taken his advice and joined him. And the young
officer--has he been long with you?'

"'About two months.'

"'He is the same man who left some of his luggage at the landing below,
is he not?'

"'Yes, I think so,' I answered.

"'A young man with light curly hair and upturned mustache, very strong,
quick in his movements, shows his teeth when he speaks--very white
teeth--'

"'He was smiling--a strange smile from one whose lips were still
parched.

"'Yes,' I replied.

"'Can I see him?'

"'No, he is dead!'

"Had I not stretched out my hand to steady him he would have fallen.

"'Dead!' he cried, a look of horror in his eyes. 'No! You don't
mean--not starved to death! No, no, you don't mean that!' He was
trembling all over.

"'No, he blew out his brains last night. His grave is outside. Come, I
will show it to you.'

"I had almost to carry him. For an instant he leaned against a tree
growing near the poor fellow's head, his eyes fixed on the rude mound.
Then he slowly sank to his knees and burst into tears, sobbing:

"'Oh! If I could have stopped him! He was so young to die.'

"Two days later he set out on his return to the coast."

With the ending of the story, Bayard turned to Mme. Constantin:

"There, Louise, you have the rest of it. You understand now what I meant
when I said there was something stronger than revenge;--the primeval."

Greenough, who had sat absorbed, drinking in every word, laid his hand
on Bayard's shoulder.

"You haven't told us their names."

"Do you want them?"

"Yes, but write them on this card."

Bayard slipped his gold pencil from its chain and traced two names. "My
God, Bayard! That's the same man I told you is dying of a broken heart."

"Yes--that's why I told you the story, Greenough. But his heart is not
breaking for the woman he loved and lost, but for the man he hunted--the
man I buried."

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Homo, by F. Hopkinson Smith

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOMO ***

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