about his temples. To Miss Donovan he seemed all man, instinct with
character and purpose, a virile type of the out-of-doors.

"To the death," and his lips and eyes smiled. "I believe in you utterly."

"Thank you. Good-bye."

He watched her climb the bank and emerge upon the bridge. He still stood
there, bare-headed, when she turned and smiled back at him, waving her
hand. Then the slender figure vanished, and he was left alone. A moment
later, Westcott was striding up the trail, intent upon a plan to entrap
Lacy.

They would have felt less confident in the future could they have
overheard a conversation being carried on in a room of the Timmons House.
It was Miss La Rue's apartments, possessing two windows, but furnished in
a style so primitive as to cause that fastidious young lady to burst into
laughter when she first entered and gazed about. Both her companions
followed her, laden with luggage, and Beaton, sensing instantly what had
thus affected her humour, dropped his bag on the floor.

"It's the best there is here," he protested. "Timmons has held it for
you three days."

"Oh, I think it is too funny, Ned," she exclaimed, staring around, and
then flinging her wraps on the bed. "Look at that mirror, will you, and
those cracks in the wall? Say, do I actually have to wash in that tin
basin? Lord! I didn't suppose there was such a place in the world.
Why, if this is the prize, what kind of a room have you got?"