come to such modern contrivances
as telephones and baths. If a patron wanted to talk out on the one
wire that connected Meander with the world and the railroad, he had to
go to the stage-office; if he wanted a bath he must make a trip to the
steam laundry, where they maintained tubs for that purpose. But these
slight inconveniences were not all on one side of the house. For if a
message came to the office for a guest in his room, there was nothing for
the clerk to do but trot up with it.

And so it came that when Agnes opened her door to the summons, her
bearing had no touch of fear or timidity. In the hall she faced the
panting clerk, who had leaped up the stairs and was in a hurry to leap
down again.

"Mr. Jerry Boyle asks if he may have the pleasure of seeing you in the
parlor, Miss Horton," said the clerk.

"Tell Mr. Boyle," she answered with what steadiness she could command,
"that I have an appointment in a few minutes. I'm afraid that I shall
not be able to see him before--before--tomorrow afternoon."

That was enough for the clerk, no matter how near or how far it came to
satisfying the desires of Jerry Boyle. He gave her a stubby bow and
heeled it off downstairs again, kicking up quite a dust in his rapid
flight over the carpet in the hall.

As if numbed or dreaming, Agnes walked slowly about her room, touching
here or there a familiar article of apparel, and seeking thus to
recall herself to a state of conscious reasoning. The events of the
morning--the scene before the land-office, her start back to the
hotel, the passing of that worn, wounded, and jaded man--seemed to have
drawn far into the perspective of the past.

In a little while William Bentley came up for his bag--for in that hotel
every man was his own porter--and called her to the door. He was off
with Horace on the eleven o'clock stage for Comanche. Next morning he
would take a train for the East. Dr. Slavens sent word that he would
come to the hotel as soon as he could make himself presentable with a
new outfit.

"Horace will stay at Comanche a while to look around," said William,
giving her his card with his home address. "If there's anything that I
can do for you any time, don't wait to write if you can reach a
telegraph-wire."

If there was pain in his eyes she did not see it, or the yearning of
hope in his voice, she did not hear. She only realized that the man who
filled her life was coming soon, and that she must light again the f