agerly. "Just give me a chance. I was a
hot-headed, jealous fool, but I never will be again. Give me a chance,
Hazel."

"You'll have to make your own chances," she said deliberately. "I
refuse to bind myself in any way. Why should I put myself out to make
you happy when you destroyed all the faith I had in you? You simply
didn't trust me. You wouldn't trust me again. If slander could turn
you against me once it might a second time. Besides, I don't care for
you as a man wants a woman to care for him. And I don't think I'm
going to care--except, perhaps, in a friendly way."

And with that Barrow had to be content.

He called for her the next day, and took her, with the Marshes, out for
a launch ride, and otherwise devoted himself to being an agreeable
cavalier. On the launch excursion it was settled definitely that Hazel
should accompany them East. She had no preparations to make. The only
thing she would like to have done--return Roaring Bill's surplus
money--she could not do. She did not know how or where to reach him
with a letter. So far as Granville was concerned, she could always
leave it if she desired, and she was a trifle curious to know how all
her friends would greet her now that the Bush mystery was cleared up
and the legacy explained.

So that at dusk of the following day she and Loraine Marsh sat in a
Pullman, flattening their noses against the car window, taking a last
look at the environs of Vancouver as the train rolled through the
outskirts of the city. Hazel told herself that she was going home.
Barrow smiled friendly assurance over the seat.

Even so, she was restless, far from content. There was something
lacking. She grew distrait, monosyllabic, sat for long intervals
staring absently into the gloom beyond the windowpane. The Limited was
ripping through forested land. She could see now and then tall
treetops limned against the starlit sky. The ceaseless roar of the
trucks and the buzz of conversation in the car irritated her. At half
after eight she called the porter and had him arrange her section for
the night. And she got into bed, thankful to be by herself, depressed
without reason.

She slept for a time, her sleep broken into by morbid dreams, and
eventually she wakened to find her eyes full of tears. She did not
know why she should cry, but cry she did till her pillow grew
moist--and the heavy feeling in her breast grew, if anything, more
intense.

She raised