hey were alone
together her very presence made him forget all else save his loyalty
toward Thayor--in brief moments such as these he would gaze at her,
when she was not looking; conversation he found difficult. There were
moments, too, when he experienced a feeling of silent depression, and
other times when there sprang up within him a positive fear--the
first fear he had ever experienced. The dread that he might lose his
self-control and tell her frankly all that lay in his heart--how much
he thought of her--how much he would always think of her. Yet he
would rather have left Big Shanty forever than have offended her. How
strange it all seemed to him! Could she really care for him?--this
girl, the very essence of refinement--this child of luxury. The
realization of the wide social breach that lay between them was plain
enough to him; he was not of her world--not of her blood.

The hopelessness of this thought brought with it a feeling of
bitterness. Once he dreamed she had kissed him. It was all so real
to him in his dream--they were a long way off in the woods somewhere
together, back of Big Shanty, near a pond which he had never seen; he
was leading her down to its edge through some rough timber, when she
sighed, "I am so tired, Billy," and sank down in a little heap half
fainting from exhaustion. He took her into his arms and carried
her--she cuddled her head against his throat. Then she kissed him
twice, and he awoke.

For a long time he sat wondering on the edge of his cot--the light
from a waning moon streaking across the cabin floor. He tried to go
to sleep, in the hope that his dream might continue, but he dreamed of
horses breaking through the ice. He wakened again at the first glimmer
of dawn--dressed and went out in the crisp air for a tramp, still
thinking of his dream and the memory of her dear lips against his
cheek.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The day at last arrived when Sperry must return to New York. His mail
during the last few days compelled his immediate presence. Although
he gauged the contents of several letters as false alarms there were
three that left no room for refusal: one meant an operation that he
dared not leave to his assistant's hands; the other two meant money.
He had begun to notice, too, a little coldness on the part of his
host; Holcomb's manner toward him had also set him to thinking. Upon
one occasion Thayor's strained silence, when he was alone with him
smoking in his den an