gain advantages.

She grew cold at the thought of losing Harboro. The inevitable
consequences of such a loss occurred to her. She would have to submit
always to Fectnor as long as he willed it. And afterward.... Ah, she must
find Fectnor!

She retraced her steps. At a shop where silks were sold she entered. She
asked for a piece of ribbon. A particular shade of blue; she could not
describe it. She sat on a stool at the counter and kept an eye on the
street.... No, something darker than that, something less lustrous. She
examined bolt after bolt, and when at length it appeared that she was
quite unwilling to be pleased she made a choice. And always she watched
the street, hoping that Fectnor would pass.

At last she went up the Quemado Road, walking disconsolately. The withered
immensity of the world broke her spirit. The vast stricken spaces were but
a material manifestation of those cruelties of nature which had broken her
long ago, and which could not be expected to withdraw their spell now that
the time had come for her destruction.

She looked far before her and saw where the Quemado Road attained its
highest point and disappeared on the other side of a ridge. A house stood
there, lonely and serene. She had known it was a convent; but now she
observed it with eyes which really saw it for the first time. It had
looked cool even during the period of midsummer. There was shade--a
friendly garden. She had seen the Mother Superior once or twice: a large,
elderly woman who wore but lightly the sedate mien which concealed a
gentle humanity.

What if she, Sylvia, were to go on past her own house, on up to the ridge,
and appeal to that unworldly woman for succor? Was there a refuge there
for such as she?

But this was the merest passing fancy. Where the tides of life ran high
she had been moulded; here in the open she would meet her end, whatever
the end might be.

She sat inside her house throughout that long day. Beside an open window
she kept her place, staring toward Eagle Pass, her eyes widening whenever
a figure appeared on the highway.

But the individual she feared--Fectnor, her father, a furtive
messenger--did not appear.

Harboro came at last: Harboro, bringing power and placidity.

She ran out to the gate to meet him. Inside the house she flung herself
into his arms.

He marvelled at her intensity. He held her a long moment in his embrace.
Then he gazed into her eyes searchingly. "Everything is all r