ler turned and raised his prairie hat.
He gave the foreman no heed whatever. The man might never have been
there. He took a step forward.

"Miss Marbolt, I believe," he said. "Forgive me, but it seems that,
being a stranger, I must introduce myself. I am John Tresler. I have
just been performing the same ceremony for your father's foreman's
benefit. Can I see Mr. Marbolt?"

He was looking down into what he thought at the moment was the
sweetest, saddest little face he had ever seen. It was dark with
sunburn, in contrast with the prim white drill dress the girl wore,
and her cheeks were tinged with a healthy color which might have been
a reflection of the rosy tint of the ribbon about her neck. But it was
the quiet, dark brown eyes, half wistful and wholly sad, and the
slight droop at the corners of the pretty mouth, that gave him his
first striking impression. She was a delightful picture, but one of
great melancholy, quite out of keeping with her youth and fresh
beauty.

She looked up at him from under the brim of a wide straw sun-hat,
trimmed with a plain silk handkerchief, and pinned to her wealth of
curling brown hair so as to give her face the utmost shade. Then she
frankly held out her hand in welcome to him, whilst her eyes
questioned his, for she had witnessed the scene between the two men
and overheard their words. But Tresler listened to her greeting with a
disarming smile on his face.

"Welcome, Mr. Tresler," she said gravely. "We have been expecting you.
But I'm afraid you can't see father just now. He's sleeping. He always
sleeps in the afternoon. You see, daylight or night, it makes no
difference to him. He's blind. He has drifted into a curious habit of
sleeping in the day as well as at night. Possibly it is a blessing,
and helps him to forget his affliction. I am always careful, in
consequence, not to waken him. But come along up to the house; you
must have some lunch, and, later, a cup of tea."

"You are awfully kind."

Tresler watched a troubled look that crept into the calm expression of
her eyes. Then he looked on while she turned and dismissed the
discomfited foreman.

"I shan't ride this afternoon, Jake," she said coldly. "You might have
Bessie shod for me instead. Her hoofs are getting very long." Then she
turned again to her guest. "Come, Mr. Tresler."

And the New Englander readily complied.

Nor did he even glance again in the direction of the foreman.

Jake cursed, not audibly, b