face that he could not keep from being anxious.

"Not even to make myself more useful?"

Elijah did not commit himself to words. His eyes were expectant. Helen
continued, pointing to the map.

"This land is practically vacant. It's owned by a Mexican. He would jump
at a dollar an acre. It is separated from this of yours by a hill. He
would never dream of a tunnel. Some one else may. There are thousands of
acres just as good as the land you control. What's the matter with
forming a land company independent of the Las Cruces? My five thousand
would cover five thousand acres. When water gets to it, say it's worth a
hundred; that will make me five hundred thousand to the good. That's
better than a present of Las Cruces at fifty, and it will come from
myself."

"I never told you about the tunnel. How did you find it out?"

Helen could not restrain a satisfied smile.

"You didn't tell me about a belt of country around here where the
temperature never falls to thirty-two?"

Elijah glanced hastily around the room.

"That's all right." Helen had noted the look. "We're all alone."

"What do you want?" Elijah's look was not yet wholly one of relief.

"To get a little closer."

"There's a big future in that idea. I have been thinking of forming a
land company. We can get control of the whole section." He swept his
hand over the map.

"We don't want the earth, Elijah. It would be too much work to handle
it. There wouldn't be any time for fun. We only want a goodly portion.
We want to do things, don't we?"

Elijah's eyes opened. An expression as of a revelation swept over his
face. The simple "we" thrilled him through and through. Unconsciousness
was dropping its mask and standing out in bold relief.

"We do, we do! and we will."

Helen was quite unconscious. She laughed at Elijah's enthusiasm.

"What kind of women have you lived with, I would like to know. This idea
would not have surprised you if it had come from a man."

Helen spoke in ignorance. Unconsciously she had opened Elijah's eyes
still wider. In a blinding flash, he saw Amy and Helen Lonsdale side by
side. The vision brought him face to face with his past life with Amy;
with its barren stretch, unwatered by sympathetic appreciation, only
parched and withered by the burning rays of selfish love. He had given;
but he had not received. What he had accomplished, he had accomplished
not only by himself, but in spite of a hostile influence. So long as his
w