go."

"She did not mind then," said George in a quiet voice. "She was dying
and we had grown up. But there was nothing selfish about her
acquiescence. I think she was glad to set him free, because she loved
him and knew what he had borne. He was a dreamer and not a business
man. She had run the store and taken care of him, and knew he would be
lonely after she had gone. Besides, I sometimes feel she thought he
would follow and rejoin her soon. It did not matter by what road he
came."

Agatha was silent for some moments because she was surprised and moved.
George had a keener imagination and saw farther than she thought. It
looked as if he had known her mother best.

"You loved her well and so you understood," she said. "But the troubles
she bore are done with, and now I stand alone. I have no
responsibilities; my life is mine!"

George's face got red. "Well, perhaps I don't count for much, but we
didn't cut loose when I married. I have a sister as well as a wife."

"I'm sorry, George," said Agatha, putting her hand on his arm. "I didn't
mean to hurt."

"Very well! I'm not a sentimental fellow; let's be practical. You can't
locate the ore, because it isn't there; but you may spoil your health
and get soured by disappointment. Then, if you stop long, you'll lose
your post and ruin your career. The blamed silver may become a fixed
illusion. That's what I'm really afraid of most. In some ways, you're