r, the eyes were
closed in sleep. She arose, darkened the room, and left it.

CHAPTER XX.

LOVE, ANGER, AND MISUNDERSTANDING.

The city bells had sounded for noon when the sleeper opened her eyes.
While she slept, Claude had arrived again at his father's cottage from
the scene of the crevasse, and reported to Tarbox the decision of
himself and the engineer, that the gap would not be closed for months
to come. While he told it, they sat down with St. Pierre to breakfast.
Claude, who had had no chance even to seek sleep, ate like a starved
horse. Tarbox watched him closely, with hidden and growing amusement.
Presently their eyes fastened on each other steadily. Tarbox broke the
silence.

"_You_ don't care how the crevasse turns out. I've asked you a
question now twice, and you don't even hear."

"Why you don't ass ag'in?" responded the younger man, reaching over to
the meat-dish and rubbing his bread in the last of the gravy. Some
small care called St. Pierre away from the board. Tarbox leaned
forward on his elbows, and, not knowing he quoted, said softly,--

"There's something up. What is it?"

"Op?" asked Claude, in his full voice, frowning. "Op where?--w'at,
_w'at_ is?"

"Ah, yes!" said Tarbox, with affected sadness. "Yes, that's it; I
thought so.

'Oh-hon for somebody, oh hey for somebody.'"

Claude stopped with a morsel half-way to his mouth, glared at him
several seconds, and then resumed his eating; not like a horse now,
but like a bad dog gnawing an old bone. He glanced again angrily at
the embodiment of irreverence opposite. Mr. Tarbox smiled. Claude let
slip, not intending it, an audible growl, with his eyes in the plate.
Mr. Tarbox's smile increased to a noiseless laugh, and grew and grew
until it took hopeless possession of him. His nerves relaxed, he
trembled, the table trembled with him, his eyes filled with tears, his
brows lifted laboriously, he covered his lips with one hand, and his
abdomen shrank until it pained him. And Claude knew, and showed he
knew it all; that was what made it impossible to stop. At length, with
tottering knees, Mr. Tarbox rose and started silently for the door. He
knew Claude's eyes were following. He heard him rise to his feet. He
felt as though he would have given a thousand dollars if his legs
would but last him through the doorway. But to crown all, St. Pierre
met him just on the threshold, breaking, with unintelligent sympathy,
into a broad, simple s