from her. That report was doubtless for Whitney
H. Stoddard, the only man that Jepson really served, the man who
actually controlled their mine. But she worked on unheeding and
presently, from across the room, she heard him speak again. His voice
was low, but the painful operations, the tedious treatments she had
endured, had sharpened her hearing until she caught every word except
the mumbled assent of the clerk.

"And tell Mr. Lockhart I'll arrange about that rebate. The check will
go directly to him."

He went on then with some hurried directions about the different
accounts to be changed and then, without troubling to shout at her
again, he turned and slipped away. She had found him out, then, the
very first day--Mr. Jepson had an understanding with L. W.! She
retired to her room to think it over and then went systematically to
work on the books, but these seemed scrupulously correct. The
influence of Stoddard, that apostle of thoroughness, was apparent
throughout the office; for Jepson well knew that the day was coming
when he must render an account to his master. The books were correct,
yet she could hardly believe the marvellous production they recorded.
Her share alone--a poor one per cent. of all that enormous
profit--would keep her in comfort for the rest of her life; she need
never work again.

But as the days went by and the yearly profit was reduced to dollars
and cents; as she looked over the statement from L. W.'s bank and saw
the money piling up to their credit; the first thrill of joy gave way
to fear--of Stoddard, and what he might do. With interests so vast
lying unprotected what could restrain his ruthless hand? And yet there
was Rimrock, wrecking his life in New York and letting her watch their
mine alone! A wave of resentment rose up at the thought--it was the
old hatred that she tried to fight down--and she clasped her hands and
gazed straight ahead as she beheld in a vision, the woman! A lank rag
of a woman, a Kipling's vampire, who lived by the blood of strong men!
And to think that she should have fastened on Rimrock, who was once so
faithful and true!

For the thousandth time there rose up in her mind the old Rimrock as
she had seen him first--a lean, sunburned man on a buckskin horse with
a pistol slung at his hip; a desert miner, clean, laughing, eager,
following on after his dream of riches. But now, soft and fat, in top
hat and diamonds, swaggering past with that woman on