ce lowered instinctively; "somehow I hate the
thought of those strange men hacking and spoiling my body. That's just
foolishness, I know, and my time's pretty well gone for foolishness. I've
always sort of tended my body, Gordon, and kept it white and soft. I
thought if a man asked me in spite of--well, my face, he could take pride
in me underneath. But that's all done with; I ought to be glad for
the ... Gordon!" she exclaimed more energetically, "it will cost a heap
of money; how will you get it? don't borrow."

"I got it," he interrupted her tersely, "and I didn't borrow it neither."

XIV

He woke at dawn. The whippoorwills, the frogs and crickets, were silent,
and the sharp, sweet song of a mocking bird throbbed from a hedge. It was
dark in the valley, but, high above, the air was already brightening with
the sun; a symmetrical cloud caught the solar rays and flushed rosy
against silver space. The valley turned from indistinct blue to grey, to
sparkling green. The sun gilded the peaks of the western range, and
slipped slowly down, spilling into the depth. It was almost cold, the pump
handle, the rough sward, the foliage beyond, were drenched with white dew;
a damp, misty veil lifted from the surface of the stream.

Clare declared that she felt stronger; she dressed, insisted upon frying
his breakfast. "You ought to have somebody in," she asserted later. They
were on the shallow porch, waiting stiffly for the doctor. "But don't get
that eldest of your sister's; last time she wore my sateen waist and run
the colors."

Just as she was leaving he slipped twenty dollars into her hand. "Write
when you want more," he directed; "and I'll be down to see you ... yes,
often ... the stage." A leaden depression settled over him as the doctor's
carriage took her from sight. The house to which he turned was deserted,
lonely. He locked the door to her room.

XV

One of the canvas-covered mountain wagons was unloading on the platform
before Simmons' store when Gordon entered the center of the village. A
miscellaneous pile of merchandise was growing, presided over by a clerk
with a pencil and tally book. Valentine Simmons, without his coat, in an
immaculate, starched white waistcoat, stood upon one side.

Gordon, without delay, approached him. "I can give you a hundred dollars,"
he informed the other, exhibiting that sum.

"Two hundred and fifty will be necessary," Simmons informed him concisely,
"to-day."