e, see her standing in the moonlight with a flash in her eyes,
questioning his authority to prevent her from snaring her companion's
peril. She was, he felt, one who would stand by her friends. He was
young, and the fact that she had seen him supporting the lurching
Grenfell at the station troubled him.

He had smoked his pipe out twice when he heard the vestibule door
click, and he started when he looked up, for Ida Stirling stood beside
him. Her light dress fluttered about her, and she stood with one hand
resting on the rail. There was no doubt that she recognized him, and
when he rose and took off his shapeless hat she looked at him steadily
for a moment or two. He wondered whether he were right in his surmises
as to why she did this; and, though his forehead grew a trifle hot, he
decided that he could not blame her. Appearances had certainly been
against him.

"I am going to join Mrs. Kinnaird. She is in the car behind the
sleeper, and that is farther along;" she said.

Weston moved so that she might step across to the adjoining car; but
she did not seem to notice this, and leaned on the rail close beside
him.

"The train is very hot with the lamps lighted," she said.

Weston understood this to mean that she was disposed to stay where she
was and talk to him awhile, which suggested that she was to some
extent reassured about his condition.

"Yes," he returned, "it is. In fact, I felt it myself. The smell of
the pines is a good deal pleasanter."

There was nothing original in the observation, and, though the roar of
wheels made it a trifle difficult to hear, he was careful as to how he
modulated his voice. Perhaps he was superfluously careful, for he saw
a smile creep into Ida's eyes.

"You seem amused," he said, and, for they stood in the moonlight, the
blood showed in his face.

"Why did you speak--like that?" his companion asked.

Weston looked at her gravely, and then made a little deprecatory
gesture.

"It was very stupid, I dare say. Still, you see, you were out on the
platform when the train came into the station."

There was something that puzzled him in Ida's expression.

"Well," she admitted, "I really had my fancies for a moment or two,
though I blamed myself afterward. I should have known better."

It was rather a big admission, but she said nothing else, and it was
Weston who broke the silence.

"I have to thank you for the prospecting outfit," he said.

The girl flashed a quick glan