Marcia, his goddess.  And Chan Lloyd! Would they be there?  He hoped so.  The whole success of his venture seemed to depend upon seeing them together.  It was her favorite spot.  She had led Jerry to believe that the crevice among the rocks by the spring, a natural throne sculptured by nature, was his, his only, and that he was her king.  That had always seemed a very beautiful thought to Jerry.  She used to sit at his feet, her arms upon his knees, look up at him and tell him of his dominion over her and all the world; her “fighting-god” he had once been, and then again her Pan, and she a dryad or an oread.

Jerry crept nearer, stealthily.  He had learned the craft of the woods years ago, and made no sound.  He stalked that grove with the keenness of a deerslayer, moving around through the undergrowth until he was quite near the rocks.  He could hear no voices as yet, but something told him that they must be there.  It was a very secluded spot; it would have been a pity to have had to go on to the house where Miss Gore and the servants would hear and see.  He crawled on his hands and knees, approaching slowly and with some pains.  He still heard no sound, but at last reached a ridge of rock within a few feet of the spring and heard voices, lowered, guilty voices they seemed to him.  He peered cautiously over.  They were there, side by side on the rocky ledge.

Jerry told me that at this moment he seemed suddenly to grow strangely calm.  The noises in his head had ceased and he felt a curious sense of quiet exaltation.  He couldn’t explain this.  I think it was a purely mental reaction after many months of spiritual coma.  He got to his feet and even before they heard the sounds of his footsteps he stood before them.

They must have been very much alarmed at Jerry’s appearance for, after dashing hotfoot through the underbrush and crawling among the rocks, his clothing must have been disarranged and his hair dirty and disordered.  The expression of his face, too, in spite of his boasted calm, could hardly have been pleasant to contemplate, for I had had a glimpse of it that morning in the motor and I am sure that for an hour or more he had been mad—­quite mad.  He said that they sprang apart suddenly and that Lloyd rose with a swaggering air and faced him.  But it seemed that the current of Jerry’s thought was diverted by Marcia, who had started up and then sank back upon the rock, addressing him in her softest tones.

“Why, Jerry!” she cried.  “How you startled me!”

It was the first time, Jerry said, that the caressing tones of the girl’s voice had made no impression upon him.  In two strides he was alongside of her, within arm’s reach of both of them.  He looked dangerous, I think, for Lloyd edged off a little.  Marcia kept her gaze fixed upon his face and what she read there was hardly reassuring.

“Jerry!” she cried again.  “What does this mean?  Your clothes are torn; your face scratched.  Has—­has something happened to you?”