ad.

"I am sorry, Kathleen. It is bad news."

"I expected it," she said quietly. "Tell me about it--all!"

He told her the main facts, omitting details. When he had concluded she
sat motionless, her eyes on the glory of the evening sky above the
western ranges.

"I am sorry," he said again.

"I understand," she said. "You are sorry that it had to be. I knew what
might happen if the boys were overtaken. It was inevitable. Well, they
made their choice and took their chance, and it went against them. I
think Gavin will tell me more than you have told me--some day. Well,
this is the end of a good many things. I was merely waiting for word.
To-morrow I am going away."

"There is no need. If you would stay with us--"

"I am just as grateful, but it is best not."

"It may be," he admitted. "Is there anything I can do?"

"If you would take Finn? He's too lively for Faith, but he's a good
horse. I hate to sell him to a stranger."

"I will buy him."

"You will not buy him. Are you too proud to do me that kindness?"

"No. I will take him and give him a good home all his life."

"Thank you."

"For taking the gift of a good horse?"

"You know better. Finn and I were friends. He--he may miss me a little."
For the first time her voice was not quite steady. "To feel that way
about a horse!" she said scornfully. "Well, it's something to be
missed--even by a horse."

"I shall miss you," Angus told her. Her eyes rested on him gravely for a
long moment.

"I know what you mean," she said. "You liked me because I was a frank
sort of individual. You may think of me now and then, when there is
nothing else on your mind. But as for missing me--pshaw! Nobody will
miss me. I had no friends."

It was brutally true. Kathleen French, highly organized, sensitive,
proud, had repelled friendships. She had hidden real loneliness under a
cloak of indifference. Apparently sufficient unto herself, others had
taken her at her own apparent valuation. Her voice was tinged with
bitterness. Angus realized vaguely a part of the truth.

"I don't think anybody thought you wanted friends."

"Everybody wants friends," she returned. "Often the people who want
them most have not the knack of making them. But I am not complaining. I
have always been able to take my medicine without making a very bad
face."

"You are a clean, straight, game girl," he said. "One of these days you
will marry, and your husband will be a lucky man."

She smiled