They believed wise old Wong a physician, for Chinamen have strange gifts. "I go see," said Pete. "No, you run 'way," said Skookum urgently. He believed Jenny was dead. "Mus' I run?" asked Pete with a fallen jaw. "Dey hang you, Pete," screamed Annawillee joyfully. Old Annie sat up in the road. "Where I go?" asked Pete. "I wis' I never see Jenny." He burst into tears. They brought him a bottle, and told him to "dlink." They gave him advice to go down the river, up the river, to the Inlet, to the Serpentine, oh, anywhere from the Police. "I go," said Pete. He drank. "I--I--go," said Pete. He drank again, and fell and lay like a log. "Now they catch Pete and hang him," screamed Annawillee. Annie staggered across to him and kicked him in the face. "Pig Pete," said Annie. Quin came to his empty house and called to tenas Jenny. And then to Sam. When no answer came he ran through the hall into the empty room where the lamp was. On the floor he saw the Bible. He understood. He quite understood. X There was no doubt at all in George Quin's mind as to what had happened, and perhaps he was not wholly surprised. What did surprise him was his own ferocious anger, and the wave of pity that even swallowed up his wrath. "My God!" said Quin. There wasn't a man in the City who knew him a little but was prepared to swear that Quin was a brute, and a devil without any feeling to speak of. It was said that he had killed Lily, the Haida girl, when, as a matter of fact, it was his brother, Cultus Muckamuck as the Siwashes called him, who had done a deed like that. He had treated Lily well. Her people said so. He had treated them well, the greedy brutes! Now Quin was full of pity, and of jealousy. This Bible had hurt her poor weak mind, no doubt of that: and it had driven her back to Pete, perhaps. "My God," said Quin again, "where else?" He remembered the screams he had heard coming from Shack-Town as he landed. And as he remembered he found himself running down the hill in the starlit gloom. He wasn't a very young man either. Quin was nearly forty: hard and set: at times a little stiff. Now he went recklessly. "If Pete----" It didn't bear thinking of, so Quin wouldn't think of it. He was jealous, hideously jealous. He could have torn Pete asunder with his powerful hands. He felt his nerves in a network within him, and in his skin. They thrilled like fire. "My poor little Jenny!" Why, the fact was that he loved her! When one comes to think of it, this was a monstrous discovery for him to make. He had really never loved anyone, certainly not dead Lily, more certainly not that white woman over in Victoria, though he thought he had. What he felt for Jenny was a revelation; it made him a saint and a devil at once, as passion does even the best and worst of men. And Quin had force and fire, and bone, and muscle and a big heavy head and hands like clip-hooks. Now passion shook him as if he were a rag in the wind.