er life on earth.
Anne read the fervid words with troubled heart. If Rast felt all that
Miss Lois said he felt, if he had borne as impatiently as Miss Lois
described their present partial separation, even when he was sure of her
love, how would he suffer when he read her letter! She looked forward
feverishly to the arrival of his answer; but none came. The delay was
hard to bear.

Dr. Gaston wrote a second time. Rast had remained but a day at the first
town, and not liking it, had gone forward. Not having heard from Anne,
he sent, inclosed to the chaplain's care, a letter for her. With nervous
haste she opened it; but it contained nothing save an account of his
journey, with a description of the frontier village--"shanties, drinking
saloons, tin cans, and a grave-yard already. This will never do for a
home for us. I shall push on farther." The tone of the letter was
affectionate, as sure as ever of her love. Rast had always been sure of
that. She read the pages sadly; it seemed as if she was willfully
deceiving him. Where was her letter, the letter that told all? She wrote
to the postmaster of the first town, requesting him to return it. After
some delay, she received answer that it had been sent westward to
another town, which the person addressed, namely, Erastus Pronando, had
said should be his next stopping-place. But a second letter from Rast,
sent also to the chaplain's care, had mentioned passing through that
very town without stopping--"it was such an infernal den"; and again
Anne wrote, addressing the second postmaster, and asking for the letter.
This postmaster replied, after some tardiness, owing to his conflicting
engagements as politician, hunter, and occasionally miner, that the
letter described had been forwarded to the Dead-letter Office. This
correspondence occupied October and November; and during this time Rast
was still roaming through the West, writing frequently, but sending no
permanent address. Now rumors of a silver mine attracted him; now it was
a scheme for cattle-raising; now speculation in lands along the line of
the coming railway It was impossible to follow him--and in truth he did
not wish to be followed. He was tasting his first liberty. He meant to
look around the world awhile before choosing his home: not long, only
awhile. Still, awhile.

The chaplain added a few lines of his own when he sent these letters to
Anne. Winter had seized them; they were now fast fettered; the mail came
o