"Well," he replied slowly, "I guess it's because I'm the captain of my soul--or try to be, at any rate. I didn't think it quite fair that you should be shunned; it occurred to me that I wouldn't be playing a manly part to permit the idle mewing of the Port Agnew tabbies to frighten me away. I didn't intend to fall in love with you--Oh, drat my reasons! I'm here because I'm here. And in the matter of that old hen--" He paused and favored her with a quizzical smile. "Yes?" "I brought a substitute hen with me--all ready for the pot, and if I can't come to dinner to-morrow, I'm going to face a very lonely Sunday." "You ridiculous boy! Of course you may come, although it must be the final visit. You realize that we owe it to ourselves not to make our burden heavier than it's going to be." He nodded. "'Eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we may be dead,'" he quoted. "Let's sit down and talk it over. I haven't sat in front of a driftwood fire since I was a boy. Queer how the salt in the wood colors the flames, isn't it?" It occurred to her for a fleeting moment that they two were driftwood, and that the salt of their tears would color their lives as the years consumed them. But she banished from her mind all thought of everything save the present. With a contented little sigh she seated herself beside him; her hand stole into his and, soothed and sustained by the comforting touch, each of the other, gradually the first terror of their predicament faded; ere long, Donald reminded her of her promise, and she stole to the old square piano and sang for him while, without, Dirty Dan O'Leary crouched in the darkness and thrilled at the rippling melody. At ten o'clock, when Donald left the Sawdust Pile, he and Nan had arrived at a firm determination to follow separate paths, nor seek to level the barrier that circumstance had raised between them. "Some day--perhaps," he whispered, as he held her to his heart in the dark-it the garden gate. "While I live, I shall love you. Good-by, old sweetheart!" XIV True to his promise, Daniel P. O'Leary declined to die that night. "Confound your belligerent soul!" the doctor growled at dawn. "I believe you're too mean to die." "We'll make it a finish fight," whispered Daniel. "I'll go you," the doctor answered, and sent for digitalis and salt solution. There was one other soul in Port Agnew who did not sleep that night, either. Andrew Daney's soul, shaken by what was to him a cosmic cataclysm, caused that good man to rise at five o'clock and go down to the hospital for another look at Dirty Dan. To his anxious queries the doctor shook a dubious head, but the indomitable O'Leary smiled wanly. "Go on wit' ye!" he wheezed faintly. "I'll win be a hair-line decision." At seven o'clock, when the telegraph-station opened, Andrew Daney was waiting at the door. He entered and sent a telegram to The Laird. Return immediately.