her as a bartender. She was acute enough to understand that her social
status had changed along with her release from the cash-register, and she
was slightly more reconciled, although she could not see her way to
providing a living for herself and Lee. For all these reasons she was
unwontedly civil to Joe, and sent him away highly elated with the success
of his interview.

"I'm going to let him take us up to Sulphur," she said to Lee. "I want to
go to town."

Lee was silent, but a keen pang ran through her heart, for she perceived
in this remark by her mother a tacit acknowledgment of Ross Cavanagh's
desertion of them both. His invitation to them to come and camp with him
was only a polite momentary impulse. "I'm ready to go," she announced, at
last. "I'm tired of this place. Let us go to-morrow."

On the following morning, while they were busy packing for this journey,
Redfield rolled up to the door in company with a young man in the uniform
of a forester.

"Go ask Reddy to come in," commanded Lize. "I want to see him."

Redfield met the girl at the door and presented his companion as "Mr.
Dalton, District Forester." Dalton was a tall young fellow with a marked
Southern accent. "Is Cavanagh, the ranger, in town?" he asked.

"No," Lee replied, with effort; "he was here a few days ago, but he's gone
back to the forest."

Redfield studied the girl with keen gaze, perceiving a passionate
restraint in her face.

"How is your mother?" he asked, politely.

Lee smiled faintly. "She's able to sit up. Won't you come in and see
her?"

"With pleasure," assented Redfield, "but I want to see you alone. I have
something to say to you." He turned to his superior. "Just go into the
cafe, Dalton. I'll see you in a moment."

Lee Virginia, hitherto ashamed of the house, the furniture, the
bed--everything--led the way without a word of apology. It was all
detached now, something about to be left behind, like a bad garment
borrowed in a time of stress. Nothing mattered since Ross did not return.

Lize, looking unwontedly refined and gentle, was sitting in a big
rocking-chair with her feet on a stool, her eyes fixed on the mountains,
which showed through the open window. All the morning a sense of profound
change, of something passing, had oppressed her. Now that she was about to
leave the valley, its charm appealed to her. She was tearing up a
multitude of tiny roots of whose existence she had hitherto remained
unaware. "I be