Through a rift in the trees straight above him the white, cold stars of the night gleamed down on him, and Howland stared up at them fixedly until they seemed to be hopping and dancing about in the skies.

He wanted to swear--yell--fight.

In these moments that he lay on his back in the freezing snow a million demons were born in his blood.

The girl had betrayed him again! This time he could find no excuse--no pardon for her.

She had accepted his love--had allowed him to kiss her, to hold her in his arms--while beneath that hypocrisy she had plotted his downfall a second time.