d departed, leaving the widow conscious of a certain
sympathetic confidence and a little grateful for--she knew not what.

This feeling remained with her most of the afternoon, and even imparted
a certain gayety to her spirits, to the extent of causing her to hum
softly to herself; the air being oddly enough the Julien Waltz. And
when, later in the day, the shadows were closing in with the rain,
word was brought to her that a stranger wished to see her in the
sitting-room, she carried a less mournful mind to this function of her
existence. For Mrs. Wade was accustomed to give audience to traveling
agents, tradesmen, working-hands and servants, as chatelaine of her
ranch, and the occasion was not novel. Yet on entering the room, which
she used partly as an office, she found some difficulty in classifying
the stranger, who at first glance reminded her of the tramping miner
she had seen that night from her window. He was rather incongruously
dressed, some articles of his apparel being finer than others; he wore
a diamond pin in a scarf folded over a rough "hickory" shirt; his light
trousers were tucked in common mining boots that bore stains of travel
and a suggestion that he had slept in his clothes. What she could see
of his unshaven face in that uncertain light expressed a kind of dogged
concentration, overlaid by an assumption of ease. He got up as she came
in, and with a slight "How do, ma'am," shut the door behind her and
glanced furtively around the room.

"What I've got to say to ye, Mrs. Wade,--as I reckon you be,--is
strictly private and confidential! Why, ye'll see afore I get through.
But I thought I might just as well caution ye agin our being disturbed."

Overcoming a slight instinct of repulsion, Mrs. Wade returned, "You can
speak to me here; no one will interrupt you--unless I call them," she
added with a little feminine caution.

"And I reckon ye won't do that," he said with a grim smile. "You are the
widow o' Pulaski Wade, late o' Heavy Tree Hill, I reckon?"

"I am," said Mrs. Wade.

"And your husband's buried up thar in the graveyard, with a monument
over him setting forth his virtues ez a Christian and a square man and a
high-minded citizen? And that he was foully murdered by highwaymen?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Wade, "that is the inscription."

"Well, ma'am, a bigger pack o' lies never was cut on stone!"

Mrs. Wade rose, half in indignation, half in terror.

"Keep your sittin'," said the stranger,