the stairs slowly. He heard Sylvia's footsteps as she moved
away; into the kitchen, probably. He climbed stealthily, like a thief. He
mustn't permit Sylvia to hear him. He couldn't see her now.

CHAPTER XXXI

Sylvia had spent the entire day by her window, looking down the road. She
had refused the food that old Antonia had brought, and the comforting
words that came with it. Something that was not a part of herself argued
with her that Harboro would come back, though all that she was by training
and experiences warned her that she must not look for him.

At nightfall she turned wearily when Antonia tapped at her door.

"_Nina!_" The troubled old woman held out a beseeching hand. "You must
have food. I have prepared it for you, again. There are very good eggs,
and a glass of milk, and coffee--coffee with a flavor! Come, there will be
another day, and another. Sorrows pass in the good God's time; and even a
blind sheep will find its blade of grass." Her hand was still extended.

Sylvia went to her and kissed her withered cheek. "I will try," she said
with docility.

And they went down the stairs as if they were four; the young woman
walking with Despair, the old woman moving side by side with Knowledge.

It was then that the telephone rang and Sylvia went to the instrument and
took down the receiver with trembling fingers. If it were only Harboro!...
But it was a woman's voice, and the hope within her died. She could
scarcely attend, after she realized that it was a woman who spoke to her.
The name "Mrs. Mendoza" meant nothing to her for an instant. And then she
aroused herself. She must not be ungracious. "Oh, Mendoza," she said; "I
didn't hear at first." She felt as if a breath of cold air had enveloped
her, but she shook off the conviction. From habit she spoke cordially;
with gratitude to the one woman in Eagle Pass who had befriended her she
spoke with tenderness. The wife of Jesus Mendoza wanted to call on her.

But Sylvia had planned the one great event of her life, and it occurred to
her that she ought not to permit this unfortunate woman to come to the
house on the morrow. It would be an unforgivable cruelty. And then she
thought of her father's house, and suggested that her visitor come to see
her there.

She hung up the receiver listlessly and went into the kitchen, where
Antonia was eagerly getting a meal ready for her. She looked at these
affectionate preparations indulgently, as she might hav