I kissed her hand, flung it off, turned and went down the beach. She

did not look about, but presently as I saw, turned and went back

toward the camp, her head hanging. And, as I had said to her, I never

loved her so much in all my life, though never was I so little

disposed to go one step in her pursuit.

Partial sat, looking after her also, his heart torn in the division

between us, for he loved us both.

"Partial," I called to him harshly, and he came, his ears down and

very unhappy. Silently, the dog at my heels, I strode on down the

beach, and so I saw her no more for some time.

I found for myself a driftwood log at the edge of the sea-marsh, and

here for a time I sat down, moodily staring out across the bay, as

unhappy, I fancy, as man gets to be in this world. I scarce know how

long I sat here, in the wind which blew salt across the bay, and for

some time, I paid no attention to the clamoring fowl which passed and

repassed not far from my point.

At length, a long harrow of great Canadian geese passed so close to me

that without much thought about it, I raised the gun and fired. I

killed two birds, and as I picked them up I found they were not a

brace, but a pair. The report of my gun started a clamoring of all

manner of fowl beyond the edge of reeds which hid the reef. A cloud of

ducks passed before me, and slipping in the shells once more, I fired

right and left. Again I killed my brace, and again when I picked them

up they were a pair. The head of one was green, the other brown. "Male

and female made He them!" said I. "If I had not killed these birds, in

the spring they would have gone northward, to the edge of the world in

their own love-making, thousands of miles from here." I looked at my

quarry with remorse, and not caring to shoot more, at length picked up

the birds and slowly started back to camp, not looking forward with

any too great pleasure, it may be imagined, to further meetings with

the woman whom, of all the world, I most cared to meet.

I found all the others of the party amiably engaged in camp affairs.

The tent now was up, the fire was arranged in more practical fashion,

and John was busy with his pans. Lafitte, ever resourceful and ever

busy, was out with Willy after more oysters. L'Olonnois, his partner,

seemed engaged in some sort of argument with his Auntie Helena.

"Jimmy, I can't!" I heard her say. "There isn't any sugar."




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