able, domesticated life is what he wants. He should give up the Force. You can see he's had enough of it."
But before Tempest went East he presented himself one warm, wet spring morning at the house across the lake from Grey Wolf, and heard Jennifer's cry of joy, and felt the grasp of her hands as she welcomed him.
"Oh," she said. "How I wish you had six hands to shake, I can't tell you how glad I am. And you haven't got this district, have you? That would be too splendid to be true."
"Yes; I'm afraid it would. I'm on leave, and I'm spending a part of it in hunting up my old friends." He looked at her intently. "I came to see if you needed help," he said.
"That is like you." Jennifer's eyes met his bravely. "You will see Harry directly, and I shall be glad to talk to you afterwards. Here's mother. And mother and I hunt through every day for all the fun we can get out of it, you know. It makes life so much more—more bearable."
Tempest understood completely why she chose that epithet when Ducane came in to lunch. The fellow was a wreck of the burly, blustering man whom Grey Wolf had once known. He shuffled in his walk, hanging his head. The shadow of the cells was on him, and horror of the future showed in his shifty eyes and in his manner. He alternately raved at Jennifer and cajoled her. He cringed to Tempest, and when the two men went out under the light spring rain with their pipes he gave way altogether; shivering and sobbing; cursing Dick and himself and the law, and imploring Tempest to help him.
"It would be so hard on Jenny to have me in—in—locked up again," he whined. "And she's been a good wife to me always. I don't deserve it. I know I don't deserve it. But she knows I'm fond of her. She knows it. Poor Jenny."
It was a horrible exhibition to Tempest; but he bore with it in patience. Even so little as he could do eased the burden for those brave women in the house. And, for all the fallen manhood in Ducane; for all the shameful thing which he had become, there was still that re-
