r of the railroads and the steamboats and the
factories and rolling mills beyond. It was as if this elevator were his
fate, looming before him and shutting out the forward view. In whatever
thoughts he had had of the future, in whatever plans, and they were few,
which he had revolved in his head, there had always been a place for
Hilda. He did not see just what he was to do, just what he was to
become, without her. He stood there for a long time, leaning against the
door-jamb with his hands in his pockets, and the sharper gusts of rain
whirled around the end of the little building and beat on him. And
then--well, it was Charlie Bannon; and Max knew that he was glad it was
no one else.

The narrow windows in the belt gallery had no glass, and the rain came
driving through them into the shadows, each drop catching the white
shine of the electric lights outside. The floor was trampled with mud
and littered with scraps of lumber, tool boxes, empty nail kegs, and
shavings. The long, gloomy gallery was empty when Bannon and Hilda
stepped into it, excepting a group of men at the farther end, installing
the rollers for the belt conveyor--they could be seen indistinctly
against a light in the river house.

The wind came roaring around the building, and the gallery trembled and
shook. Hilda caught her breath and stopped short.

"It's all right," said Bannon. "She's bound to move some."

"I know--" she laughed--"I wasn't expecting it--it startled me a
little."

"Watch where you step." He took her arm and guided her slowly between
the heaps of rubbish.

At one of the windows she paused, and stood full in the rain, looking
out at the C. & S. C. tracks, with their twinkling red and green lights,
all blurred and seeming far off in the storm.

"Isn't this pretty wet?" he said, standing beside her.

"I don't care." She shook the folds of the rubber coat, and glanced down
at it. "I like it."

They looked out for a long time. Two millwrights came through the
gallery, and glanced at them, but they did not turn. She stepped forward
and let the rain beat on her face--he stood behind, looking at her. A
light showed far down the track, and they heard a faint whistle. "A
train," he said; and she nodded. The headlight grew, and the car lights
appeared behind it, and then the black outline of the engine. There was
a rush and a roar, and it passed under them.

"Doesn't it make you want to jump down?" she said softly, when the roar
had