you if you have sufficient money to carry you through? I know the
pay of a private is not great--"

"Thank you. I have saved nearly all of it. My father has sent me
a draft for five hundred. I don't expect to use it, of course."

"Your father?" asked Cable, with a quick, searching look.

"And then I did save something in Chicago, strange as it may seem,"
said Bansemer, with a smile. "I have a few of your five per cents.
I trust the road is all right?"

The Cables left San Francisco on the following day, accompanied by
the Harbins and Graydon Bansemer. There was no mistaking the joy
which lay under restraint in the faces and attitude of the Cables.
David Cable had grown younger and less grey, it seemed, and his
wife was glowing with a new and subdued happiness. Graydon, sitting
with the excited Ethel--who was rejoicing in the prospect of New
York and the other young man--studied the faces of the three people
who sat at the other end of the coach.

Time had wrought its penalties. Cable was thin and his face had
lost its virility, but not its power. His eyes never left the face
of Jane, who was talking in an earnest, impassioned manner, as was
her wont in these days. Frances Cable's face was a study in transition.
She had lost the colour and vivacity of a year ago, although the
change was not apparent to the casual observer. Graydon could see
that she had suffered in many ways. The keen, eager appeal for
appreciation was gone from her eyes; in its stead was the appeal
for love and contentedness. Happiness, now struggling against the