Samson, throwing things hurriedly into his bag, heard a knock on his
door. He opened it, and outside in the hall stood Adrienne. Her face
was pale, and she leaned a little on the hand which rested against the
white jamb.

"What does it mean?" she asked.

He came over.

"It means, Drennie," he said, "that you may make a pet of a leopard cub,
but there will come a day when something of the jungle comes out in him
--and he must go. My uncle has been shot, and the feud is on--I've been
sent for."

He paused, and she half-whispered in an appealing voice: "Don't go."

"You don't mean that," he said, quietly. "If it were you, you would
go. Whether I get back here or not"--he hesitated--"my gratitude will
be with you--always." He broke off, and said suddenly: "Drennie, I
don't want to say good-by to you. I can't."

"It's not necessary yet," she answered. "I'm going to drive you to New
York."

"No!" he exclaimed. "It's too far, and I've got to go fast----"

"That's why I'm going," she promptly assured him. "I'm the only fool
on these premises that can get all the speed out of a car that's in her
engine--and the constables are good to me. I just came up here to--" she
hesitated, then added--"to see you alone for a moment, and to say that
teacher has never had such a bright little pupil, in her life--and--"
the flippancy with which she was masking her feeling broke and she
added, in a shaken voice as she thrust out her hand, man-fashion--"and
to say, God keep you, boy."