, 1923-10-17
CHAPTER xl-contInued.

He stood up neal her feet at the
corner of the hearth, tucked the In.
strument under his chin and played.
1t was the "Aubade Provencale." and
he played it creditably. with fair skill
and with some Of the wizardry that
his nervous vitality gave to every
thing he did. At the first note loan
started, her pupils enlarged. she lay
still. At the end he saw that she wal
quivering and in tears.
He knelt down beside her, drew the
hands from her face. "Why, Joan,
what's the matter7 Don't you like
muslcf"
Joan drew q shaken breath. TITS
as If 1t shook me In here. something
trembles in my heart" she said. ~
never heered music before. Jest whis-
tim" And again she wept.
Prosper stayed there on his knee be-
side her, his chin in his hand. What
an extraordinary being this was, what
q magnificent wilderness. The thought
of exploration, of discovery, Of cult
walton, filed him with excitement and
delight. Such opportunities are rare
ly given to a nan. Even hat other
most beautiful adventure-yes, he
could think this already might have
been tame beside this one He looked
long at Joan, long into the fire, and
she lay still, with the brooding beau
ty Of that first-heard melody upon
her face.
1t was the first music she had ever
heard. except whistlin'," but there
had been a great deal of "whistlin'"
about the cabin up Lone river; whis-
Ting of robins In spring-nothing
weeter-the chordlike whistlings Of
thrush and vireo after sunset. that
bubbllng marguerite" with which
the blackblrds WOO. and the light d.
mlnuendo with which the bluebird ca
ressed the air after an April flight.
Perhaps Joan's musical faculty was
less unframed than any other. After
all, that "Aubade Provencale" was just
the melodious story of the woods In
spring. Every note linked itself to an
emotional, subconscious memory. 1t
filled Joan's heart with the freshness
OF childhood and panied her only be-
cause 1t struck a spear of delight into
her pain. She was eighteen, she had
grown like n tree, drinking In sunshine
and storm. but rooted to a solitude
where very little else but sense-experi-
enee could reach her mind. She had
seen tragedies OF animal life, lonely
death-struggles, horrible flights and
more horrible captures. she had seen
Joyous woolngs, love-pinings, partings,
and hnrnD ClA I-A.w, sI.aN slA
sun shone on the evil and on the good,
but she knew also that frost fell upon
The good Us well as upon the evil. nor
was the evil to be readily distinguished.
Her father prated Of only one offense,
her mothers sin. Joan knew hat II
was a mans right to kill his roman
Tor "dealin's with another man" This
law was human; 1t evidently did not
mold good with animals. There was
no bitterness, though some ferocity. In
'he traffic OF their loves.
While she pondered through the first
seepless nights in this strange shelter
o'hers, and while the blizzard Prosper
nad counted on drove b%ayoneted bat
Unions Of sno across the plains and
iorced them. screaming like madmen,
ulohg the narrow canyon, Joan came
ho"ly n fully to a realization Of
ue motive Of Pierre's deed. He had
oeen Jealous. He had thought that she
was having dealings with another
man She grew hot and shamed. 1t
was her fathers sin. that branding on
aer shoulder, or. perhaps. going back
Iurther' her mothers sin. Carver had