me to her a
swift vision of two helpless girls in a cabin with drinking ruffians, of
the entry of a man into the picture, of his fight against odds to save
her and Joyce from insult. Beside this abstract justice became a pale
and misty virtue.

"Of course you'll not tell anyone," Joyce repeated.

Moya brought her gaze back from the window. "I shall tell Mr. Kilmeny."

"But it isn't your secret. You have no right to."

"Have you forgotten that night in the cabin?" asked Moya in a low, clear
voice. "If you have, I haven't."

"I don't care," Joyce answered petulantly. "He's so hard. Why can't he
be nice about this? Why can't he understand--instead of sneering at me?
It's a good deal harder for me than for him. Think of fifty years of
Dobyans Verinder."

"Would you care to write Mr. Kilmeny a note? I'll take it to him if you
like," Moya suggested gently.

Joyce considered. "No, I couldn't put it on paper. But--you might tell
him."

"I don't think I could quite do that."

"If it came up right; just show him how I'm placed."

"Perhaps. Shall I tell him that you asked me to warn him?"

Joyce nodded, eyes shining. She was a young woman capable of changing
her mind in the snap of a finger. Dainty and exquisite as apple
blossoms, she was like a young plant with delicate tendrils forever
reaching out. Love she must have and ever more of it. To admiration she
was sensitive in every fiber. Whenever she thought of Jack Kilmeny's
contempt tears scorched her eyes.

It was like Moya that she carried her warning immediately and directly.
Kilmeny was not easy to find. He had been seen entering the office of a
lawyer, but had left before she arrived. The attorney understood Jack to
say that he was going to an assayer's office, and the young woman
learned there that he had not been seen yet by the assayer. From here
she walked toward his boarding house, thinking that she might catch him
at lunch.

A quick step on the boardwalk behind her caught the girl's attention.
Almost at the same moment a voice hailed her.

"Whither away, Miss Dwight?"

She turned, heart beating fast. "I was looking for you, Mr. Kilmeny."

"And you've found me. What luck--for Jack Kilmeny!" His friendly
smile--the same one that had claimed comradeship on the Gunnison--beamed
upon her with its hint of irony.

A miner with a dinner bucket was coming toward them. Moya spoke quickly.

"I want to see you ... alone. I've something important to tell you