Brent reached Arden behind a sweaty horse. The meeting with Hewlet was filling him more and more with an agonizing unrest. He wanted to be alone, and he wanted not to be alone. He wanted to think, and he wanted not to think. At least, he could not face the Colonel and the others just now, so turning past the house to the most secluded spot the lawn afforded, he brushed through the screen of cedar branches, felt his way across the tanbark to a seat, and sank into it with a low curse. Jane had heard the quick approaching steps, and now, because her eyes were accustomed to the shadowy gloom, she recognized at once, not only the man but a measure of his agitation by the way he breathed and jammed one fist into the palm of his other hand. Yet, in a spirit of fun, she remained motionless, wondering how soon he would detect her. Then a deep groan burst from his lips. It was a sound of poignant suffering that went to the depths of her nature. Purposeless as seemed his life, she still felt that it could not be altogether bad. The very charm of his presence, which had a way of stamping him a gentleman born even when in his khaki working clothes, stood for some defense; and, in spite of his laziness, she rather guessed that a generous fund of masculine strength lay within that frame--and of mental strength, if directed toward things of his desire. She knew him to be a dreamer, a scoffer; but had not accredited him with a capacity of worry or grief. The evidence of it now perplexed as much as it stirred her. In the stillness of the place it seemed almost as though she could hear his heart crying beneath its breath in the grip of some remorseless sorrow. At once she was all pity, and slowly, with her eyes resting on his bent head, asked: "What has happened?" He sprang up, peered at her, and then tried to laugh. "You must forgive me," he bowed, "for bringing the dramatic club into your sanctum. I'd no idea anyone was here." "I know that," she said. Then asked again: "What has happened?" "You're a bully fellow," he exclaimed in a tone of sincerity, but not entirely free from the false echo of his laugh, "and I'd love to tell you were you not certain to be bored stiff with it. Let me ask you, instead, what you're thinking about in this charmed circle?" "I'm sure you'd be bored stiff," she drily answered. He waited a moment. Then: "It wasn't very courteous of me, I know; but, as a matter of fact, I was just having something out with myself. I've--I haven't been fair to someone; and I'm sorry. So I can't tell you lest I betray." She sat more erect with a shade of her former sympathy, asking as though it had been a debatable point: "Then you have a conscience?" "I have a sense of proportion," he answered. "That's more logical than a conscience." "Will you ever exercise it for those poor mountain people of mine, who are starving for civilization?" "I already do--all sorts of ways." He had himself in hand now, and, crossing over, sat down by her.