erious way
between the walls of shadowy hills; and borne to her ears on the gentle
night wind came the deep, thundering roar of the angry waters at Elbow
Rock.

For a long time she stood there on the porch looking into the night,
with the light from the open door of her little house behind her; and
she felt very lonely, very tired, and very old. With her beautiful old
face upturned to the infinite sky, where shining worlds are scattered
in such lavish profusion, she listened, listened to the river that, with
its countless and complex currents, swept so irresistibly onward along
the way that was set for it by Him who swung those star-worlds in the
limitless space of that mighty arch above. And something of the spirit
that broods ever over the river must have entered into the soul of
Auntie Sue. When she turned back into the house, there was a smile on
her face, though her eyes were wet with tears.

Going to the chair that held Brian Kent's clothing, she took the
garments in her arms and pressed them to her lips. Then she carried them
to his room.

For some time she remained in that darkened chamber beside the sleeping
man.

When she returned to the living-room, she again took up the newspaper.
Very carefully, that her sleeping companions in the house might not hear
her, she went to the kitchen, the paper in her hand. Very carefully,
that no sound should betray her act, she burned the paper in the kitchen
stove.

CHAPTER IX.

AUNTIE SUE'S PROPOSITION.

During the next few days, Brian Kent rapidly regained his strength. No
one seeing the tall, self-possessed gentleman who sat with Auntie Sue on
the porch overlooking the river, or strolled about the place, could have
imagined him the wretchedly repulsive creature that Judy had dragged
from the eddy so short a time before. And no one,--exempting, perhaps,
detective Ross,--would have identified this bearded guest of Auntie
Sue's as the absconding bank clerk for whose arrest a substantial reward
was offered.

But Mr. Ross had departed from the Ozarks, to report to the Empire
Consolidated Savings Bank that, to the best of his knowledge and belief,
Brian Kent had been drowned. Homer T. Ward, himself, wrote Auntie Sue
about the case, for the detective had told the bank president about his
visit to the little log house by the river, and the banker knew that his
old teacher would wish to hear the conclusion of the affair.

The facts upon which the detective based