If Nature was his God and Bible, and Nada his Angel, these finger-worn little books written by a man half a century dead were voices out of the past urging him on to his best.

Their pages were filled with the vivid lessons of sacrifice, of courage and achievement, of loyalty, honor and dishonor--and of the crashing tragedy which comes always with the last supreme egoism and arrogance of man.

He marked the dividing lines, and applied them to himself.

And he told Peter of his conclusions.

He felt a consuming tenderness for the glorious Margaret of Anjou, and his heart thrilled one day when a voice seemed to whisper to him out of the printed page that Nada was another Margaret--only more wonderful because she was not a princess and a queen.
"The only difference," he explained to Peter, "is that Margaret sacrificed and fought and died for a king, and our Nada is willing to do all that for a poor beggar of an outlaw.