ul of it--and one telegram in
the bunch. Hope it isn't serious."

Wayland took the bundle of letters and retired to his room, glad to
escape the persistent stare of the cow-hands. The despatch was from his
father, and was curt and specific as a command: "Shall be in Denver on
the 23d, meet me at the Palmer House. Am on my way to California. Come
prepared to join me on the trip."

With the letters unopened in his lap he sat in silent thought, profoundly
troubled by the instant decision which this message demanded of him. At
first glance nothing was simpler than to pack up and go. He was only a
tourist in the valley with no intention of staying; but there was Berea!
To go meant a violent end of their pleasant romance. To think of flight
saddened him, and yet his better judgment was clearly on the side of
going. "Much as I like her, much as I admire her, I cannot marry her. The
simplest way is to frankly tell her so and go. It seems cowardly, but in
the end she will be happier."

His letters carried him back into his own world. One was from Will
Halliday, who was going with Professor Holsman on an exploring trip up
the Nile. "You must join us. Holsman has promised to take you on."
Another classmate wrote to know if he did not want to go into a land deal
on the Gulf of Mexico. A girl asked: "Are you to be in New York this
winter? I am. I've decided to go into this Suffrage Movement." And so,
one by one, the threads which bound him to Eastern city life re-spun
their filaments. After all, this Colorado outing, even though it should
last two years, would only be a vacation--his real life was in the cities
of the East. Charming as Berea was, potent as she seemed, she was after
all a fixed part of the mountain land, and not to be taken from it. At
the moment marriage with her appeared absurd.

A knock at his door and the Supervisor's voice gave him a keen shock.
"Come in," he called, springing to his feet with a thrill of dread, of
alarm.

McFarlane entered slowly and shut the door behind him. His manner was
serious, and his voice gravely gentle as he said: "I hope that telegram
does not call you away?"

"It is from my father, asking me to meet him in Denver," answered
Norcross, with faltering breath. "He's on his way to California. Won't
you sit down?"

The older man took a seat with quiet dignity. "Seems like a mighty fine
chance, don't it? I've always wanted to see the Coast. When do you plan
for to pull out?"

Way