And even while he was speaking close beside the wall, so near that a hand could have reached him, a man was crouching; the same man whose cruel eyes had stared through the bushes at Lloyd Fenneben as he sat by the river before Pigeon Place; the same man whose eyes had leered at Vic Burleigh in this same place eighteen months before; the same man whom little Bug Buler's innocent face had startled as he was about to seize the money box at the gateway to the Sunrise football field; and this same man was crouching now to spring at Vic Burleigh's throat in the darkness. “It's a good thing a fellow has a guardian angel once in a while,” Vic said, as he hastily withdrew his head and shoulders. “We get pretty close to the edge of things sometimes and never know how near we are to destruction.” “We were pretty close that night,” Elinor replied. “Shall we rest here a little while, or do your savage sorority sisters require you to do time in so many minutes?” Vic asked, as they left the cave and came again into the sunlight, and all the sweetness of the April woodland, and the rugged beauty of the glen. “I'm glad to rest,” Elinor said, dropping down on a stone. Her cheeks were blooming from the exercise of the tramp, and her pretty hair was in disorder. Far away from the west prairie came the faint note of a child's voice in song. “Victor,” Elinor said, as they listened, “do you know that the Sunrise girls envy Bug Buler? They say you would have more time for the girls if it wasn't for him. What you spend for him you could spend on light refreshments for them, don't you see?” “I know I'm a stingy cuss,” Vic said, carelessly, but a deeper red touched his cheek. “You know you are not,” Elinor insisted, “and I've always thought it was a beautiful thing for a big grown man like you to care for a little orphan boy. All the girls think so, too.” Burleigh looked down at her gratefully. “I thought once--in fact, I was told once--that my care for him was sufficient reason why I should let all the girls alone, most of all why I should not think of Elinor Wream.” “How strange!” Elinor's face had a womanly expression. “I've never had a little child to love me. I've been brought up with only AEneas's small son Ascanius, and other classical children, on Uncle Joshua's Dead Language book shelves. I feel sometimes as if I'd been robbed.” “You? I didn't know you had ever wanted anything you did n't get.” Victor had thought all things were due to her and came as duly. The womanly look on her face now was a revelation to him. But then he had not dared to study her face for months, and he did not yet realize what life in Dr. Fenneben's home must mean to her character-building. “I'll tell you some time about something I ought to have had, a sacrifice I was forced to make; but not now, Tell me about Bug.” There was no bitterness in Elinor's tone, yet the idea of her having the capacity to endure gave her a newer charm to the man beside her.