ll a long way
off! But," and he tried to make out her features in the darkness, "how
does it happen that this spring has never been found before?"

"The country all about it is what the desert is everywhere. No one
would dream of water in it. Then there is a rude circle of low-lying
sand-hills. Within their inclosure, consequently shut off from view
unless one rides to the crest of the hills as I happened to do, is the
spring."

He thought that she was going to add something further, perhaps more
in the way of a description of the location of the spring, when he
heard horses' hoofs and the rattle of dry wagon-wheels, and she broke
off suddenly.

"It is father at last," she said, softly. "Remember, Mr. Conniston, I
want to keep this a secret from father for a while--until I know what
it is worth."

"I'll remember," he answered, rising with her and turning toward the
two figures which had leaped down from the wagon and were hastening
toward the cottage. The man slightly in front of his companion, coming
first into the rays of the lamp streaming through the window, was Mr.
Crawford. And Conniston saw with a quick frown that the other man was
Roger Hapgood.

"Argyl, my dear," said Mr. Crawford, as he kissed the girl who had
gone to meet him, "I am sorry we are late. You'll be sorry, too, for
I'm amazingly hungry. Anything left? Ah, Mr. Conniston, isn't it? Glad
to see you." He took Conniston's hand in a strong grip. "Haven't seen
you since you came to the Valley. I'm glad you're here. I want to talk
with you about the work."

He went on into the house, Argyl with him. She had shaken hands with
Roger Hapgood, and, with an invitation to him and Conniston to follow,
went ahead with her father.

For a moment the two men faced each other in silence through the
half-darkness. Then Hapgood turned upon his heel and went into the
house. In a moment Conniston followed him, smiling.

He took a chair at the side of the room and lighted a fresh cigar
while he watched the two men at table and Argyl bringing them their
supper. He saw that Mr. Crawford's manner was what it always had
been--bluff, frank, open, cheery. But he saw, too, or thought that he
saw, little lines of worry upon the high forehead which had not been
there a month ago.

Hapgood's face, seen now clearly, was as smug as ever, but there had
been wrought in it a subtle change. In place of the fresh, pink
complexion, the desert had given him a healthy coat of ta