him?"

He threw up one hand, as if to ward off a blow.

"I can't let anybody talk about that. Don't Rachel!"

"I won't, I won't, Dan! I didn't mean to hurt you," soothingly. "But you
make me feel, somehow, as if I had been doing something wrong to you,
and you know I wouldn't, Dan. We were all such good friends
together--then."

Her dark eyes looked down upon him pleadingly, and her fine face showed
an emotion greater than her limited vocabulary could express in words.

Sometimes, though, words are less explanatory than looks. If Dan had
once glanced up--but his eyes seemed glued to the floor. It was of hard
wood, and its polished surface danced before him as he tried to steady
himself to answer.

"I ain't blaming you," he muttered, "only--"

"Only what, Dan?"

He made a movement of his head that suggested a trapped animal, then
suddenly stood up and looked at her, as if in desperation. She rose
also, pale and startled.

"Don't you s'pose I know how you feel?" he murmured, while his large
eyes glowed like coals in the shadows. "You're kind, but--but I don't
want--pity. I know how I must seem to you, even if you try not to give
up to it. When 'twas as it was I've got sense enough not to stay around
and remind you----"

But just then there was a shout, a rush, excited cries and screams. Some
one knocked over the chair which had screened them so loyally, and from
which Rachel had just risen. Dan had caught one word, "Fight! Fight!"
and conscience-smitten over his negligence in warning Murfree, sprang
towards the hall from which the cries came, leaving Rachel alone. But
she felt no special interest in a rough encounter between two men
towards whom she was utterly indifferent. Their fate could not thrill
her as did the memory of Dan's burning words. What did they mean? Had
she the clue to conduct on his part which had grieved her sorely. She
could not help a glow of expectation, and a thrill of pleasure. It was
at this moment Joyce caught the radiant look on her face, and shared to
a degree in that hidden gladness, through the sweet sympathy and
friendliness of the glance she gave the girl who had half repulsed her
but an hour, or two, before.

CHAPTER XVII.

DODO.

It was a glorious morning. Joyce, romping around the lawn chased by
Dodo, and much wound up with the cocker spaniel, Robin, did not see
George Dalton as he entered her grounds from the front entrance,
opposite the park. There was no rea