McKinnon looked at her in amazed and silent comprehension. At last he seemed able to understand, disturbed as he was by the thought of so fragile a figure entangled in such brutal and rudimentary conflicts. The lack of motive for her presence in the same circle with Ganley, whether facing or following such a man, had been the underground yet actual cause of more than one of his wayward suspicions. But now he understood. And her confession, instead of shocking and disturbing him, brought into his softened eyes a sense of release, of more perfect understanding. What she had told him seemed to humanise her, to bring her into touch with the world of realities as he had met and known it. The last of his old-time fear of her, his hampering awe of her, had vanished.
"We are both against Ganley," he said, as though speaking to himself.
"You are against Ganley?" she questioned.
"To the end of time!" he answered, with a solemnity that brought her great wondering eyes up to his. She noticed that he rose from his chair and closed the cabin door.
"Why have you changed?"
"I have not changed!"
"Then what is it?"
"It's that I'm at last going to be half honest with you—that I can't continue not being
