She smiled, a little flicker of a smile. She might not like to be pursued by jealousy incarnate, but she was, he saw, rather amused at being fraternally tyrannized over. "Now," he said, "I'm going. You're to stand here in your tracks, and when I've sent Nan down the path I'll come and get you." He gave her no time to object, but went back to the hut, and in to solitude and a deadening fire. He threw open the door of the other room, though Nan would surely not be there, and swore at not finding her. Womenfolk were giving him a good deal of trouble with their exits and their entrances. He mended the fire, snatched up his cap and gloves and went out again, up the path to Tira. She was standing motionless precisely, he thought, in the tracks where he had left her, and the Buddhistic child indifferently regarded him. "Come on," Raven called to her, stopping at a pace from them. "She's on her way down along, and there's a good fire." She started obediently after him and Raven, though he saw in her slowness the hesitating desire to express her distaste for putting any one out, paid no attention but went on ahead and opened the door. "Keep up the fire," he bade her. "I'll be back along about one and bring you something to eat. The little chap, too. We mustn't forget him." She had stepped inside and he was about closing the door; but she turned and seemed to recover her attitude of protest. "No," she said, "don't you bring up anything. I shall be gone long 'fore then." "Why, no, you won't," said Raven impatiently. "You're not going back into that----" he paused, seeking a word that should not offend her. She had clung to incredible loyalties. Perhaps she even clung to her home. "Oh," she said earnestly, "it'll be over by then, an' he'll want his dinner." Tenney would want his dinner! He had no words for that. He turned away. But she seemed to feel the finality of his going. Was he giving her up? She put the child down on the couch and turned to follow. Raven was just closing the door. "Don't!" she cried. There was piercing entreaty in her voice. "Don't!" It was really begging him not to give her up, and though he did not clearly understand it so, he knew he was forcing on her something to bear, in addition to all the rest. She must not think that of him. She must feel safe, in whatever manner it was easiest for her to accept safety. He smiled back at her in that way Anne Hamilton, when she had caught him smiling at Nan, thought so maddeningly beautiful. Poor Anne! She had starved for the sweetness of what seemed to her, in her hunger of the heart, an almost benedictory tenderness. "Don't you worry," he said to Tira, in the phrasing he unconsciously adopted to her. "Everything's going to be exactly as you want it. Only," he added whimsically--a tone she had never heard in her life before--"if I could have my say for a few hours, it would be to find you here when I come back."