et. Her
touch on his arm, her tone, her solicitude, agitated him more than he
dared let her see. Why in the name of heaven couldn't he have a Ruth
who was like her? A Ruth who was a Louise, with all of her lovable
qualities and splendid courage and fine nobility of heart?

He swung about to gaze at her. She yet sat half turned in her seat so
that her clear profile was before his eyes. Her soft chestnut hair
glinted with gleams of the fire that escaped through a crack in the
door. Her features were in repose. Something in her attitude, in her
face, gave her a girlish appearance, as she might have looked when
sixteen--an infinite candor, an innocence and simplicity, that alone
comes from a serene spirit.

Presently he discovered that she had moved her head about, that she
was looking straight at him. Bryant experienced a singular emotion.

"Some serious trouble is disturbing you," she said.

Her eyes continued fixed upon his, increasing his uneasiness. He felt
himself flushing. He made a gesture as if whatever it was might be
disregarded, then said, "Yes."

"You're not still anxious concerning me? I'm rested--see!"

She sprang up, casting off the rug and spreading her arms wide for his
scrutiny. The heat of the fire had put the glow into her cheeks again;
a smile rested on her lips; she seemed poised for an upward flight.

"I'll take you home," he said, abruptly.

"Oh, no. I can ride----"

"One of the boys will bring your horse to you in the morning," he
continued, as if she had not spoken. "It would be dark before you
reached home; dusk is already at the windows. And you would be chilled
through. You've no business to be riding after what you've been
through. I'll bring my car to the door while you're putting on your
things."

A vague fear sent him out of the door quickly. Ruth in his mind was
like a figure projected far off in the landscape, occupied, distant,
facing away; but Louise Graham was by, and despite his wish or will,
or her knowledge, drawing his heart. What he had sought in Ruth was in
her possession, the possibility of happiness. Life had deluded him and
seemed about to crush him in a savage clutch. As he moved along the
street, this apprehension lay cold in his breast; he could not dismiss
it; it persisted like a dull throb of pain. A sudden fury swept him.
The place was becoming intolerable, the mesa a hell. He burned to
chuck the whole wretched business.

When he returned with the car he wa