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He smiled. "No, but I can put some there if you want it."

His smile darkened. "I am your prisoner," he said, with a sudden splendid stateliness, and right then I guessed who he was.

The aunt and her nieces were standing in the carry-all, she majestic, they laughing and weeping in the one act. I waved them into their seats.

I found but one white figure under the dim veranda eaves. "Miss Camille?"

"They were neither of them present, Lieutenant; that hand was Miss Coralie Rothvelt's."

"Yes," he responded, "but not she! Her life is still hers; she will neither give it away nor throw it away. She wants it, and she wants it whole."

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