him, the infinite appeal he found in her every look and movement,
the very fragrance of her hair, bore him away beyond all purpose
and intention.

"Tell me what it is," he said again. "Won't you? Miss Cayley, if
you and I were to trust each other--it's not difficult to see
there's something troubling you."

"Most people have some trouble or another," she answered evasively.

He came a little nearer to her, and instead of the gruff, harsh
tones he habitually used, his voice was singularly pleasant and low
as he said:

"People who are in trouble need help, Miss Cayley. Will you let me
help you?"

"You can't," she answered, shaking her head. "No one could."

"How can you tell that?" he asked eagerly. "Perhaps I know more
already than you think."

"I daresay you do," she said slowly. "I have thought that a long
time. Will you tell me one thing? --Are you his friend or not?"

There was no need for Dunn to ask to whom the pronoun she used
referred.

"I am so much not his friend," he answered as quietly and
deliberately as she had spoken. "That it's either his life or mine."