there was a note in
her words which I did not like, nor did I think that her eye was very
kind, especially when she looked at Ruth Devlin and afterwards at
Roscoe.

We had several miles to go, and it was nightfall--for which Mrs.
Falchion expressed herself as profoundly grateful--when we arrived at
the hotel. Our parting words were as brief as, of necessity, they had
been on our journey through the mountains, for the ladies had ridden
the horses which we had sent over for ourselves from Viking, and we men
walked in front. Besides, the thoughts of some of us were not at all
free from misgiving. The spirit possessing Roscoe the night before
seemed to enter into all of us, even into Mrs. Falchion, who had lost,
somewhat, the aplomb with which she had held the situation in the
boat. But at the door of the hotel she said cheerfully: "Of course, Dr.
Marmion will find it necessary to call on his patients to-morrow--and
the clergyman also on his new parishoners."

The reply was left to me. I said gravely: "Let us be thankful that both
doctor and clergyman are called upon to use their functions; it might
easily have been only the latter."

"Oh, do not be funereal!" she replied. "I knew that we were not to drown
at the Devil's Slide. The drama is not ended yet, and the chief actors
cannot go until 'the curtain.'--Though I am afraid that is not quite
orthodox, is it, Mr. Roscoe?"

Roscoe looked at her gravely. "It may not be orthodox as it is said, but
it is orthodox, I fancy, if we exchange God for fate, and Providence for
chance.... Good-night."

He said this wearily. She looked up at him with an ironical look, then
held out her hand, and quickly bade him good-night. Partings all round
were made, and, after some injunctions to Mrs. Falchion and Justine
Caron from myself as to preventives against illness, the rest of us
started for Sunburst.

As we went, I could not help but contrast Ruth and Amy Devlin, these
two gentle yet strong mountain girls, with the woman we had left. Their
lives were far from that dolorous tide which, sweeping through a selfish
world, leaves behind it the stain of corroding passions; of cruelties,
ingratitude, hate, and catastrophe. We are all ambitious, in one way or
another. We climb mountains over scoria that frays and lava that burns.
We try to call down the stars, and when, now and then, our conjuring
succeeds, we find that our stars are only blasting meteors. One moral
mishap lames character