ngers through his hair as one still puzzled
and bewildered. "Some sort of a miracle has been wrought," he said. "A
little while ago a committee came to talk over terms of surrender. It
seems that the whole thing was the result of a--of a mistake."

"Yes," she returned quietly, "it was just that--a mistake." And then:
"You are going to take them back?"

"Certainly. The plant will start up again in the morning." Then his
curiosity broke bounds. "I can't understand it. How did you work the
miracle?"

"Perhaps I didn't work it."

"I know well enough you did, in some way."

She dismissed the matter with a toss of the pretty head. "What
difference does it make so long as you are out of the deep water and in
a place where you can wade ashore? You _can_ wade ashore now, can't
you?"

He nodded. "This morning I should have said that we couldn't; but now--"
he reached over to his desk and handed her a letter to which was pinned
a telegram less than an hour old.

She read the letter first. It was a curt announcement of the withdrawal
of the Pineboro Railroad's repair work. The telegram was still briefer:
"Disregard my letter of yesterday"; this, and the signature, "Atherton."
The small plotter returned the correspondence with a little sigh of
relief. It had been worse than she had thought, and it was now better
than she had dared hope.

"I must be going," she said, rising. "If you will give me my envelope?"

He crossed to the safe and got it for her. His curiosity was still
keen-edged, but he beat it back manfully.

"I wish you wouldn't hurry," he said hospitably. He was searching the
changeful eyes for the warrant to say more, but he could not find it.

"Yes, I really must," she insisted. "You know we have a sick man at
home, and----"

"Oh, yes; how is Mr. Galbraith getting along? He has been having a
pretty hard time of it, hasn't he?"

"Very hard. It is still doubtful if his life can be saved."

"He is conscious?"

"He has been to-day."

"And he understands his condition?"

"Perfectly. He had us wire for some of his bank people this morning. The
cashier can't come, but he is sending a Mr. Johnson--the paying teller,
I believe he is."

"Poor old man!" said Raymer, and his sympathy was real.

She was moving toward the door, and he went with her.

"I know you are not entertaining now--with Mr. Galbraith to be cared
for; but I'd like to come and see you, if I may?" he said, when he had
gone with her throug