each was feeling how pleasant
the journey had been, and dreading what might be before.

They wanted to stay in this Utopia of the plains, forever journeying
together, and never reaching any troublesome futures where were laws and
opinions by which they must abide.

But the morning grew bright, and the road was not half long enough. Though
at the last they walked their horses, they reached the town before the
daily train had passed through. They went straight to the station, and
found that the train was an hour late; but a telegram had arrived for the
man. He took it nervously, his fingers trembling. He felt a premonition
that it contained something unpleasant.

The girl sat on her horse by the platform, watching him through the open
station door where he was standing as he tore open the envelope. She saw a
deathly pallor overspread his face, and a look of anguish as if an arrow
had pierced his heart. She felt as if the arrow had gone on into her own
heart, and then she sat and waited. It seemed hours before he glanced up,
with an old, weary look in his eyes. The message read:

"Your mother seriously ill. Wants you immediately. Will send your baggage
on morning train. Have wired you are coming."

It was signed by his cousin with whom he had been taking his
hunting-trip, and who was bound by business to go further West within a
few days more.

The strong young man was almost bowed under this sudden stroke. His mother
was very dear to him. He had left her well and happy. He must go to her at
once, of course; but what should he do with the girl who had within the
last two days taken so strong a hold upon his--he hesitated, and called it
"protection." That word would do in the present emergency.

Then he looked, and saw her own face pale under the tan, and stepped out
to the platform to tell her.

CHAPTER VIII

THE PARTING

She took the news like a Spartan. Her gentle pity was simply expressed,
and then she held her peace. He must go. He must leave her. She knew that
the train would carry him to his mother's bedside quicker than a horse
could go. She felt by the look in his eyes and the set of his mouth that
he had already decided that. Of course he must go. And the lady was there
too! His mother and the lady! The lady would be sorry by this time, and
would love him. Well, it was all right. He had been good to her. He had
been a strong, bright angel God had sent to help her out of the
wilderness; and now