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 you uncover him and let me see his face, jus' for a minute, please, Durek?"

"No," answered Derek, coldly. "You deserted him when he was well. You shall not disturb him now."

She drew a deep sigh. "It's pretty hard," she said, "never to see my little baby's face again."

"I suppose it is," said Derek, without looking at her, "but it's not to be." He went to Jock who was whining, unloosed him, and went into the house.

He hesitated a moment in the dining room, and then entered the dim, cool parlour. He replaced the chairs that had been taken from their customary positions to support the coffin, and then sat down on the sofa staring blankly at the shuttered windows.

He thought—"What a stupid, sullen chap I am getting. Nothing surprises me. There is Fawnie come back, and it seems perfectly natural. There is Buck—dead—and she standing by his grave and—I'm not surprised. Well—well—well—well."

He repeated the monosyllable aloud, his mouth twisted with a pained expression. He took his pipe from his pocket, looked at it, turned it over in his hand, and returned it to his pocket.

Though Buckskin was in his grave, Derek's heart would not let him be. Painfully he went over in his mind the events of the past thirty-six hours. And after each piercing recollection he said, "Well—well"—in the same tone.

He was aroused from those thoughts by a movement of one of the shutters. A slat had been opened and Fawnie's voice came through. He could see the glint of her eyes in the aperture. "Say, darling, can I come in?"

"No."

"Well, look here, Durek, can I tell you why I run away?"

"It was because you loved Jammery, I suppose."