Jack looked at her. His bad angel whispered in his ear, "Ask her to give you a kiss," but Jack metaphorically kicked him out of hearing. "Give me a flower," he said, and his voice was as gentle as its deep ringing bass could be. Una nodded, and plucking a dog rose held it out to him. "There," she said; "at least you will remember it as long as the rose lasts. But it soon dies," and she sighed. Jack took it and looked at it hard. Then he put it to his lips. "There is no smell to a dog rose," said Una. "Ah no! I forgot. Just so. Well, good-by. We may shake hands, Una. That is your name, isn't it? How do you spell it?" "U--n--a," she said, giving him her hand. "It's a pretty name," he said, looking at her. "Is it?" she said, dreamily. "Yes, I think it is, now. Say it again." "Una, good-by. We shall meet again." "Do you think so? Then you will have to come to Warden again." "And I will. I will come soon. Oh, yes, we shall meet again. Good-by," and, yielding to the temptation, he bent and touched her hand--Heaven knows, reverently enough--with his lips. A warm flush spread over the girl's face and neck, and she quivered from head to foot. It was the first kiss--except those of her father and mother--that she had ever received. "Good-by," he repeated, and was slowly relinquishing her hand, the hand that clung to his, when a hand of firmer texture was laid on his arm and swung him round. It was Gideon Rolfe, his face white with passion, his eyes ablaze, and a heavy stick upraised. The Savage had just time to step back to avoid the blow and plant his feet firmly to receive a renewed attack; but with an effort the old man restrained himself, and struggling for speech, motioned the girl away with one hand and pointed with the other to Jack. "You scoundrel!" he gasped, hoarsely. "Go, Una, go. You scoundrel! I warmed you at my hearth, you viper! and you turn to sting me. Go, Una--go at once. Do you disobey me?" White and trembling, the girl shrank into the shade. "You villain!" went on the old man, struggling with his passion. "Stop!" exclaimed Jack, the veins in his forehead swelling ominously. "You must be mad! Don't strike me!--you are an old man!" "Strike you! No, no; blows are of no avail with such as you! Curs take no heed of blows! What other way can one punish the scoundrel who repays hospitality by treachery? Was it not enough that you forced your way into my house, broke my bread, but you must waylay a credulous girl and lead her in the first step to ruin. Oh, spare your breath, viper! I know you and your race too well. Ruin and desolation walk hand in hand with you; but you have reckoned without your host here. My knowledge of you arms me with power to protect a weak, innocent girl from your wiles. Scoundrel!"