A glory from the crimson lamp-shade touched her hair, which was unbound for comfort, and held half its length in two loose braids, as she had worn it when they were children. The strained position of her arm, thrown up over the head of the sofa, pulled back her sleeve, showing its smooth whiteness from below the elbow; it tapered perfectly to the wrist. The slender, shaking figure, her whole attitude, was an unconscious appeal to him, and roused a tumult of feeling; not only resentment against Philip, but immeasurable pity, tenderness for her, out of which rose a sudden and overwhelming desire to take her in his arms and comfort her. He turned and looked into the fire; the frowning line deepened between his level brows. "Don’t make so much of it," he said. "I’m none the worse for a little wetting." [Illustration: "He turned and looked into the fire."] "None the worse?" He started at the vibration in her voice. She rose to her feet. "Do you think I do not know you have done a desperate thing? Do you think I have no gratitude?" "Oh, no," he answered smiling, "I couldn’t think that." She came a little nearer. "You have a bruise on your forehead; your hand—I noticed it when you lifted the wood—is cut—terribly." She took the hand in her own palm and examined the hurt, touching it gently with her handkerchief. "How was it, Paul? Tell me." "Why, I hadn’t noticed it, but it probably happened when I made a landing." He winced slightly under her soft dabs. "I ran the dugout in at that old trestle above town, and struck a pile. Now you know the worst; there’s nothing left to imagine." He laughed and drew his hand away. "I’m going down to my room now, but I shall be back in a little while. Sing is bringing me a supper." He opened the door and went out, closing it softly. "To have a wife like that," he thought, "and yet neglect her." *CHAPTER XIX* *"ANDROMEDA HAS FOUND A PERSEUS"* The great boom which cleared Duwamish Head of its big timber and cut the cable car-track across the face of the promontory, created also frequent and heavy landslides that changed the gravelly beach at Freeport into the broad and sandy expanse which became Seattle’s favorite bathing resort. In the earlier times, beyond the old hotel, the high tide washed sheer to the foot of the bluff, and the incomparable view of blue sea and wooded island, framed by the shining Olympic Mountains, was limited to the outlook from the balcony at the rear of the ruin. Louise stood upon this balcony, facing the northwest. The bluff was on her left, so near she might have lifted her hand and touched the damp soil. It was midsummer and a resinous fragrance mingled with the salt air. The distant coast was veiled in smoke, and the sun, low in the west, barred the Sound blood red.