ill be glad to be our banker."

"One moment, Miss Christie," said Dick lightly, as his thumb and finger
relaxed in his waistcoat pocket over the only piece of money in the
world that had remained to him after his extravagant purchase of
Christie's saffrona rose, "one moment: in this yer monetary transaction,
if you like, you are at liberty to use MY name."

CHAPTER VIII

As Christie and Jessie Carr looked from the windows of the coach, whose
dust-clogged wheels were slowly dragging them, as if reluctant, nearer
the last stage of their journey to Devil's Ford, they were conscious
of a change in the landscape, which they could not entirely charge upon
their changed feelings. The few bared open spaces on the upland, the
long stretch of rocky ridge near the summit, so vivid and so velvety
during their first journey, were now burnt and yellow; even the brief
openings in the forest were seared as if by a hot iron in the scorching
rays of a half year's sun. The pastoral slopes of the valley below were
cloaked in lustre-leather: the rare watercourses along the road had
faded from the waiting eye and ear; it seemed as if the long and dry
summer had even invaded the close-set ranks of pines, and had blown a
simoom breath through the densest woods, leaving its charred red ashes
on every leaf and spray along the tunnelled shade. As they leaned out
of the window and inhaled the half-dead spices of the evergreens, they
seemed to have entered the atmosphere of some exhausted passion--of some
fierce excitement that was even now slowly burning itself out.

It was a relief at last to see the straggling houses of Devil's Ford far
below come once more into view, as they rounded the shoulder of Devil's
Spur and began the long descent. But as they entered the town a change
more ominous and startling than the desiccation of the landscape
forced itself upon them. The town was still there, but where were
the inhabitants? Four months ago they had left the straggling street
thronged with busy citizens--groups at every corner, and a chaos
of merchandise and traders in the open plaza or square beside the
Presbyterian church. Now all was changed. Only a few wayfarers lifted
their heads lazily as the coach rattled by, crossing the deserted square
littered with empty boxes, and gliding past empty cabins or vacant shop
windows, from which not only familiar faces, but even the window sashes
themselves, were gone. The great unfinished serpent-