"Not there? Neither there?"

"No, Miss." The clerk was breathing hard from his run, but his tone

was sympathetic. "Darned if I did n't hustle that outfit from pit to

boxes, but nobody there seemed to sabe this yere Brown. Mercedes, she

was there all right, 'bout ten minutes ago, but just naturally faded

away before I hit the shebang. Doorkeeper piped it she had a guy with

her when she broke loose, an' he reckoned she must have lit out fer

home."

"For home?" a faint ray of light breaking from the word. "Where does

the girl live? Do you know?"

"Sure; I 'm wise; she has a couple of dandy rooms over at the old fort,

just across the creek; you know where that is, don't you?"

She nodded silently, her eyes brightening with resolution.

"It 's a blame tough bit of hiking to take alone on a dark night like

this," he commented gravely. "You was n't plannin' to try any such

trip as that, was you, Miss?"

"Oh, no; certainly not. I'm going upstairs to wait for daylight. But

I thank you so much," and she cordially extended her hand. "You see,

I--I could hardly go to the Gayety myself at such an hour."

The boy colored, still clasping the extended hand. Something in her

low tone had served to recall to his mind those hasty words uttered in

the office.

"Sure not, Miss Norvell; it's a bit tough, all right, for anybody like

you down there at this time o' night."

She opened the door, the bright light from within shining about her

slender figure, yet leaving her face still in shadow.

"Did--did you chance to notice if Mr. Farnham remained in the dance

hall?"

"Biff Farnham?" in sudden, choking surprise. "Great guns, do you know

him, too? No, he was n't there, but I can tell you where he is, all

the same. He 's at the Palace Livery, saddling up, along with half a

dozen other fellows. I saw 'em as I come trottin' along back, and

wondered what the dickens was on tap at this time o' night."

The girl made no attempt to answer. She stood clutching the edge of

the door for support, her lips tightly compressed, feeling as if her

heart would rise up and choke her. She realized instantly that the

crisis had arrived, that Winston's life probably hung upon her next

decision. Twice she endeavored bravely to speak, and when she finally

succeeded, the strange calmness other voice made her doubt her own

sanity.

"Thank you," she said gravely, "you have been most kind,--good-night,"

and vanished up the stairs.

Within the privacy of her own securely locked room Beth Norvell flung

herself upon the narrow bed, not to sleep, not even to rest, but in an

earnest effort to clarify her brain, to gain fresh conception of this

grim reality which fronted her. She realized now precisely what Ned

Winston stood for in her life--must ever stand for until the bitter

end. There was no upbraiding, no reviling. Not in the slightest

degree did she even attempt to deceive herself; with set, tearless

eyes, and without a sigh of regret, she simply faced the naked truth.

She had made the mistake herself; now she must bear the burden of

discovery. It was not the dull inertia of fatalism, but rather the

sober decision of a woman who had been tried in the fire, who

understood her own heart, and comprehended the strength of her own

will. Personal suffering and sacrifice were no new chapters written in

her life; these had been met before, and now, in yet another guise,

they could be courageously met again. She sat up quickly upon the edge

of the bed, her hands pressing back the heavy hair from off her hot

forehead. What right had she to lie there shuddering at destiny when

lives--his life--might be trembling in the balance? She could at least

serve, and, whatever else of weakness may have lurked in Beth Norvell,

there was no germ of cowardice. Clearer and more clear she perceived

duty, until it overshadowed love and brought her upon her feet in

active preparation, in burning desire for action.




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