"He is on guard," Latimer explained. "I put him there to warn us
if any one approaches, and when we are not here, he is to
frighten away trespassers. Do you understand?" he demanded of the
sailorman. "Your duty is to protect this beautiful lady. So long
as I love her you must guard this place. It is a life sentence.
You are always on watch. You never sleep. You are her slave. She
says you have a friendly smile. She wrongs you. It is a
beseeching, abject, worshipping smile. I am sure when I look at
her mine is equally idiotic. In fact, we are in many ways alike.
I also am her slave. I also am devoted only to her service. And I
never sleep, at least not since I met her."

From her throne among the pine needles Helen looked up at the
sailorman and frowned.

"It is not a happy simile," she objected. "For one thing, a
sailorman has a sweetheart in every port."

"Wait and see," said Latimer.

"And," continued the girl with some asperity, "if there is
anything on earth that changes its mind as often as a
weather-vane, that is less CERTAIN, less CONSTANT--"

"Constant?" Latimer laughed at her in open scorn. "You come back
here," he challenged, "months from now, years from now, when the
winds have beaten him, and the sun blistered him, and the snow
frozen him, and you will find him smiling at you just as he is
now, just as confidently, proudly, joyously, devotedly. Because