Thane stood for a long time looking at the pile. He was not sentimental. His life had been spent in an irreverent city, among people hardened by pleasure or coarsened by greed. His thoughts as he stood there were not of the unhappy pair who reposed beneath those ugly rocks; they were of the far-off tragedy that had brought them to this singular resting-place. The fact that this was a grave, sacred in the same sense that his father's grave in Woodlawn was supposed to be sacred to him and to his mother, was overlooked in the silent contemplation of what an even less sophisticated person might have been justified in describing as a "freak." Nothing was farther from his mind, however, than the desire or impulse to be disrespectful. And yet, as he was about to turn away from this sombre pile, he leaned over and struck a match on one of the huge boulders. As he was conveying the lighted sulphur match,--with which Dowd's Tavern abounded,--to the cigarette that hung limply from his lips, he was startled by a sharp, almost agonized cry. It seemed to come from nowhere. He experienced the uncanny feeling that a ghost,--the ghost that haunted Quill's Window,--standing guard over the mound, had cried out under the pain inflicted by that profane match. Even as he turned to search the blazing, sunlit rock with apprehensive eyes, a voice, shrill with anger, flung these words at him: "What are you doing up here?" His gaze fell upon the speaker, standing stockstill in the cloven path below him, not twenty feet away. In his relief, he laughed. He beheld a slim figure in riding-togs. Nothing formidable or ghostlike in that! Nevertheless, a pair of dark blue eyes transfixed him with indignation. They looked out from under the rim of a black sailor hat, and they were wide and inimical. "Did you not see that sign on the gate?" demanded the girl. "I did," he replied, still smiling as he removed his hat,--one of Knox's panamas. "And I owe you an apology." She advanced to the top. He noted the riding-crop gripped rather firmly in her clenched hand. "No one is permitted to come up here," she announced, stopping a few feet away. She was quite tall and straight. She panted a little from the climb up the steep. He saw her bosom rise and fall under the khaki jacket; her nostrils were slightly distended. In that first glimpse of her, he took in the graceful, perfect figure; the lovely, brilliant face; the glorious though unsmiling eyes. "You must leave at once. This is private property. Go, please." "I cannot go before telling you how rotten I feel for striking that match. I beg of you, Miss Crown,--you ARE Miss Crown?--I can only ask you to believe that it was not a conscious act of desecration. It was sheer thoughtlessness. I would not have done it for the world if I had--"