ng force which gave
him a strength in the theatre like one in delirium, he noticed nothing.
He was only conscious of the omniscient night and its warm penetrating
friendliness; as, in a great trouble, when no words can be spoken, a
cool kind palm steals into the trembling hand of misery and stills it,
gives it strength and life and an even pulse. He was now master in the
house of his soul, and had no fear or doubt as to the future, or as to
his course.

His first duty was to go to Constantine Jopp, and speak his regret like
a man. And after that it would be his duty to carry a double debt his
life long for the life saved, for the wrong done. He owed an apology to
La Touche, and he was scarcely aware that the native gentlemanliness in
him had said through his fever of passion over the footlights: "I beg
your pardon." In his heart he felt that he had offered a mean affront
to every person present, to the town where his interests lay, where his
heart lay.

Where his heart lay--Molly Mackinder! He knew now that vanity had
something to do, if not all to do, with his violent acts, and though
there suddenly shot through his mind, as he rode back, a savage thrill
at the remembrance of how he had handled the three, it was only a
passing emotion. He was bent on putting himself right with Jopp and with
La Touche. With the former his way was clear; he did not yet see his way
as to La Touche. How would he be able to make the amende honorable to La
Touche?

By and by he became somewhat less absorbed and enveloped by the
comforting night. He saw the glimmer of red light afar, and vaguely
wondered what it was. It was in the direction of O'Ryan's Ranch, but
he thought nothing of it, because it burned steadily. It was probably a
fire lighted by settlers trailing to the farther north. While the night
wore on he rode as slowly back to the town as he had galloped from it
like a centaur with a captive.

Again and again Molly Mackinder's face came before him; but he
resolutely shut it out of his thoughts. He felt that he had no right
to think of her until he had "done the right thing" by Jopp and by La
Touche. Yet the look in her face as the curtain came down, it was not
that of one indifferent to him or to what he did. He neared the town
half-way between midnight and morning. Almost unconsciously avoiding the
main streets, he rode a roundabout way towards the little house where
Constantine Jopp lived. He could hear loud noises in the st