hat man they weren't sure--they'd been going too fast and
were too far off--but he was like Nick Hilliard.

And it was then that Simeon Harp came on to the terrace where Carmen was
standing to hear the story. Seeing his face she knew that things had gone
utterly wrong, and that all hope was lost.

"Nick will know what I did!" she told herself, as the death-stab of
failure struck her in the heart. "Maybe he knows already. If that woman
has told him how I sent her out alone, and how I lied about his plans
being changed, and the men he had to meet, then he must guess. They're
sure to compare notes, and he'll suspect about the poison-oak."

The ice of despair was a frozen dagger in her breast. Even before the
chance came for a talk with Simeon Harp she made up her mind what to do.
It would be a cruel wrench, but there was nothing else. She could not face
Nick's look of loathing, even though gratitude for the past should close
his lips upon his knowledge, and upon his secret thoughts of her. To go
away, far away, this very hour, before he could come, would be a
confession of guilt and of utter defeat; but to Carmen, crushed and
hopeless and ashamed, it was the only thing to do. She would go and never
come back. She would live in the East, or, better still, in Europe, and
sell the hateful ranch. She had received many tempting offers since her
husband's death, and through her lawyers she would accept one that was
still open. Life here would be too hateful with Nick for a silent enemy;
Nick married by and by, perhaps, to the other woman.

The excitement of her decision kept Carmen from a physical collapse.
Quickly, if a little confusedly, she thought out a plan. There would, of
course, be a question of insurance for the dead and injured cattle, she
said to the elderly foreman who had taken Nick's place on the ranch. She
would go to San Francisco at once. No use to point out that it was
unnecessary. She wished to go. That was enough. And she gave directions to
every one what was to be done in her absence, for she might be away some
days. She would not take her maid. She preferred to travel alone. And when
some question was asked later by one of the house servants about the
guest, Mrs. May, Carmen answered: "She has been suddenly called away from
here by telegram. I don't think she'll be coming back to the house.
There'll be a message for that Irish girl of hers by and by, I expect.
Anyhow, I can't trouble about them now. Their