id, and she ran him a break-neck race for many a
day, but never making him unhappy or less resourceful. His verdict, and
his only verdict, upon Mrs. Falchion had been confided to Blackburn, who
in turn confided it to Clovelly, who passed it on to me.

He said: "A woman is like a horse. Make her beautiful, give her a high
temper and a bit of bad luck in her youth, and she'll take her revenge
out of life; even though she runs straight, and wins straight every
time; till she breaks her heart one day over a lost race. After that
she is good to live with for ever. A heart-break for that kind is their
salvation: without it they go on breaking the hearts of others."

As I read Belle's and Hungerford's letters my thoughts went back
again--as they did so often indeed--to the voyage of the 'Fulvia', and
then to Mrs. Falchion's presence in the Rocky Mountains. There was a
strange destiny in it all, and I had no pleasant anticipations about
the end; for, even if she could or did do Roscoe no harm, so far as his
position was concerned, I saw that she had already begun to make trouble
between him and Ruth.

That day which saw poor Boldrick's death put her in a conflicting light
to me. Now I thought I saw in her unusual gentleness, again an unusual
irony, an almost flippant and cruel worldliness; and though at the time
she was most touched by the accident, I think her feeling of horror at
it made her appear to speak in a way which showed her unpleasantly to
Mr. Devlin and his daughter. It may be, however, that Ruth Devlin saw
further into her character than I guessed, and understood the strange
contradictions of her nature. But I shall, I suppose, never know
absolutely about that; nor does it matter much now.

The day succeeding Phil's death was Sunday, and the little church
at Viking was full. Many fishers had come over from Sunburst. It was
evident that people expected Roscoe to make some reference to
Phil's death in his sermon, or, at least, have a part of the service
appropriate. By a singular chance the first morning lesson was David's
lamentation for Saul and Jonathan. Roscoe had a fine voice. He read
easily, naturally--like a cultivated layman, not like a clergyman;
like a man who wished to convey the simple meaning of what he read,
reverently, honestly. On the many occasions when I heard him read the
service, I noticed that he never changed the opening sentence, though
there were, of course, others from which to choose. He