hts. The monotony of the commonplace receded and was
lost; the aspect of life upon which she looked was wonderful and new.
There had been a change within her. She was no longer the Wanda Leland
she had been a moment ago, the Wanda Leland she had been throughout the
years of her life. Nor would she ever be exactly that same Wanda
Leland again.

Revelation had been lightning, two-tongued. It showed her herself; it
explained, it touched with light, it made distinct the shadowy things
that had long lain in her breast. And it showed her Wayne Shandon as
she had never seen him.

For years they had been playfellows, frank, almost boyish, both of
them. Now her heart was beating wildly from the very touch of him.
Had she always loved him? Had he always loved her? Was this
wonderful, new thing, love, without beginning as it surely was without
end?

She looked wonderingly into his eyes. Her own, like his, were clear,
bright one moment, starry with a dimness as of unshed tears the next.
Tenderness, like a mist, filled them.

"I love you, Wayne," she said, her voice low, trembling just a little,
but clear. "I want you all mine as you want me. So that if you went
up to Heaven or down to Hell I could go with you."

"Wanda!" he said. "_Wanda_."

She smiled a little at him and put out her two hands.

CHAPTER VIII

"A GAME OF BLUFF AND THE GAMBLER WINS!"

The spirit of unrest which Wanda had felt vaguely the night before did
not depart with the passing of the darkness. Something was wrong,
radically wrong at the Echo Creek ranch house. Since the unexpected
home coming of Red Reckless there had been a subtle difference, a
ruffling of the waters which usually ran so placidly at the country
home, a darkening and disturbation of the surface which hinted at
hidden whirlpools and cross currents.

It was from the master of the household that the day took its colour.
In his own room last night he had been restless, sleepless until very
late. Mrs. Leland had heard him walking up and down, had heard the
noise of his pipe against his tobacco jar many times after the hour
when Martin was in the habit of having his last smoke. In the morning
he was up and dressed before Julia had built her fire. All day he was
strangely pre-occupied and silent. He seemed scarcely to notice Wanda
when she came into the dining room to give him his good morning kiss.
That was unlike him. Both women noticed it.

After breakfast he