rfect darkness and she
became vaguely uneasy. She did not understand Jack's disposition. The
girl had been so quiet and unhappy since Olive's disappearance and Ruth
wondered what Jack was doing in the dark alone.

A knock on the door brought no answer and Ruth tried again.

"What is it?" a stifled voice asked.

"Won't you let me come in, Jack?" Ruth urged, feeling her uneasiness
increase.

"I would much rather you wouldn't, I prefer to be alone," Jack replied
in her habitual frigid tones. But Ruth heard a queer little catch at the
end of her sentence that was unfamiliar.

Ruth had her hand on the doorknob and without waiting for permission she
turned it and walked into Jack's room. "I think it is my duty to come in
to you, Jack," she explained, in her self-righteous, lady-governess
tones that Jack so much disliked.

The room was in almost total darkness and Ruth could catch only a faint
outline of Jack's figure, drawn up in its usual proud pose. But to-night
her head was drooping. The fire had burned out in the grate, except for
a few colored ashes, but Ruth found paper and wood and soon brought it
to a blaze. She said nothing and Jack neither moved nor spoke. But Ruth
caught one glimpse of Jack's face, when the firelight leaped up into the
room.

She found an old eiderdown wrapper in the closet and pushed a low chair
near the fire, putting the warm grey gown over Jack's rigid shoulders
and pushing her softly toward the chair.

"There, dear, sit down by the fire," Ruth said gently. "I did not mean
to intrude on you and I will leave you by yourself, but you must try and
not let yourself get ill because you are miserable. There may be a lot,
you know, that you must do for Frieda and Jean."

Ruth could see that Jack had lost her self-control and was trembling
with nervousness and cold, and turned to leave her, but Jack held out a
shaking hand.

"Please don't go yet, Ruth," she pleaded, as though she were one girl
talking to another. "There is something I want to try to tell you if I
can."

Ruth sat quietly down. She realized all at once how much harder it is
for some people to say the things they feel, than it is for others.

"It's about Olive," Jack declared after an instant. "I have been over to
the Norton ranch to-day. I brought myself to ask a favor of Mr. Norton.
I asked him to let me speak to the Indian boy, Josef, who works on his
ranch. Mr. Norton consented, if I would allow him to stay in the room