ed
and adorned. Frances Landcraft was right, among thousands who were
wrong in her generation, in her opinion of what made her fairer in the
eyes of men.

Her hand was on the door when a soft little step, like a wind in
grass, came quickly along the hall, and a light hand struck a signal
on the panel. Frances knew that it was Mrs. Mathews before she flung
the door open and disclosed her. She was dressed to take the road
again, and Frances drew back when she saw that, her blood falling away
from her heart. She believed that he stood in need of her gentle
ministrations no longer, and that she had come to tell her that he was
dead.

Mrs. Mathews read her thought in her face, and shook her head with an
assuring smile. She entered the room, still silent, and closed the
door.

"No, he is far from dead," she said.

"Then why--why are you leaving?"

"The little lady of the ranch has stepped into my place--but you need
not be afraid for yours." Mrs. Mathews smiled again as she said that.
"He asked for you with his first word, and he knows just how matters
stand."

The color swept back over Frances' face, and ran down to hide in her
bosom, like a secret which the world was not to see. Her heart leaped
to hear that Maggie had been wrong in her application of the rule that
applies to men in general when death is blowing its breath in their
faces.

"But that little Nola isn't competent to take care of him--she'll kill
him if she's left there with him alone!"

"With kindness, then," said Mrs. Mathews, not smiling now, but shaking
her head in deprecation. "A surgeon is here, sent back by Major King,
he told me, and he has taken charge of Mr. Macdonald, along with Miss
Chadron and her mother. I have been dismissed, and you have been
barred from the room where he lies. There's a soldier guarding the
door to keep you away from his side."

"That's Nola's work," Frances nodded, her indignation hot in her
cheek, "she thinks she can batter her way into his heart if she can
make him believe that I am neglecting him, that I have gone away."

"Rest easy, my dear, sweet child," counseled Mrs. Mathews, her hand on
Frances' shoulder. "Mr. Macdonald will get well, and there is only one
door to his heart, and somebody that I know is standing in that."

"But he--he doesn't understand; he'll think I've deserted him!"
Frances spoke with trembling lips, tears darkling in her eyes.

"He knows how things stand; I had time to tell him that