f into her own little private stateroom.

She rushed eagerly to the window which was partly open, guarded with a
screen, and pressed her face against the upper part of the glass. The
train had described a curve across the prairie, and the station was
still visible, though far away. She was sure she could see the tall
figure of her lover standing with hat in hand watching her as she passed
from his sight.

With quick impulse she caught up a long white crepe scarf that lay on
her berth, and snatching the screen from the window fluttered the scarf
out to the wind. Almost instantly a flutter of white came from the
figure on the platform, and her heart quickened with joy. They had sent
a message from heart to heart across the wide space of the plains, and
the wireless telegraphy of hearts was established. Great tears rushed to
blot the last flutter of white from the receding landscape, and then a
hill loomed brilliant and shifting, and in a moment more shut out the
sight of station and dim group and Hazel knew that she was back in the
world of commonplace things once more, with only a memory for her
company, amid a background of unsympathetic relatives.

She made her toilet in a leisurely way, for she dreaded to have to talk
as she knew she would, and dreaded still more to meet Hamar. But she
knew she must go and tell her father of her experiences, and presently
she came out to them fresh and beautiful, with eyes but the brighter for
her tears, and a soft wild-rose flush on her wind-browned cheeks that
made her beauty all the sweeter.

They clamoured at once, of course, for all the details of her
experience, and began by rehearsing once more how hard Mr. Hamar had
tried to save her from her terrible plight, risking his life to stop her
horse. Hazel said nothing to this, but one steady clear look at the
disfigured face of the man who had made them believe all this was the
only recognition she gave of his would-be heroism. In that look she
managed to show her utter disbelief and contempt, though her Aunt Maria
and perhaps even her father and brother thought her gratitude too deep
for utterance before them all.

The girl passed over the matter of the runaway with a brief word, saying
that the pony had made up his mind to run, and she had lost the bridle,
which of course explained her inability to control him. She made light
of her ride, however, before her aunt, and told the whole story most
briefly until she came to the c