dwelt within it now. Whoever it was he would not have them find him, like a prowler, there at the gate. But he would come again and again like this at nighttime, to gaze and refresh his spirit.
A hand had been laid upon M'sieur Michel's shoulder and some one called his name. Startled, he turned to see who accosted him.
"Duplan!"
The two men who had not exchanged speech for so many years stood facing each other for a long moment in silence.
"I knew you would come back some day, Michel. It was a long time to wait, but you have come home at last."
M'sieur Michel cowered instinctively and lifted his hands with expressive deprecatory gesture. "No, no; it's no place for me, Joe; no place!"
"Isn't a man's home a place for him, Michel?" It seemed less a question than an assertion, charged with gentle authority.
"Twenty-five years, Duplan; twenty-five years! It's no use; it's too late."
"You see, I have used it," went on the planter, quietly, ignoring M'sieur Michel's protesta-
