im again, did you?" asked Garrison. "So what
does it matter? Merely an incident."

They rode a furlong in absolute silence. Again the girl was the first
to speak. "It is queer," she moralized, "how fate weaves our lives. They
run along in threads, are interwoven for a time with others, dropped,
and then interwoven again. And what a pattern they make!"

"Meaning?" he asked absently.

She tapped her lips with the palm of her little gauntlet.

"That I think you are absurd."

"I?" He started. "How? Why? I don't understand. What have I done now?"

"Nothing. That's just it."

"I don't understand."

"No? Um-m-m, of course it is your secret. I am not trying to force a
confidence. You have your own reasons for not wishing your uncle and
aunt to know. But I never believed that Garrison threw the Carter
Handicap. Never, never, never. I--I thought you could trust me. That is
all."

"I don't understand a word--not a syllable," said Garrison restlessly.
"What is it all about?"

The girl laughed, shrugging her shoulders. "Oh, nothing at all. The
return of a prodigal. Only I have a good memory for faces. You have
changed, but not very much. I only had to see you ride to be certain.
But I suspected from the start. You see, I admit frankly that you once
were my hero. There is only one Billy Garrison."

"I don't see the moral to the parable." He shook his head hopelessly.

"No?" She flushed and bit her lip. "William C. Dagget, you're Billy
Garrison, and you know it!" she said sharply, turning and facing him.
"Don't try to deny it. You are, are, are! I know it. You took that name
because you didn't wish your relatives to know who you were. Why don't
you 'fess up? What is the use of concealing it? You've nothing to
be ashamed of. You should be proud of your record. I'm proud of it.
Proud--that--that--well, that I rode a race with you to-day. You're
hiding your identity; afraid of what your uncle and aunt might
say--afraid of that Carter Handicap affair. As if we didn't know you
always rode as straight as a string." Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes
flashing.

Garrison eyed her steadily. His face was white, his breath coming hot
and hard. Something was beating--beating in his brain as if striving to
jam through. Finally he shook his head.

"No, you're wrong. It's a case of mistaken identity. I am not Garrison."

Her gray eyes bored into his. "You really mean that--Billy?"

"I do."

"On your word of honor? By everything