I'll send out
friends; and then the Lorrigans won't bother you. We won't come to the
funeral, because your father wouldn't like to see us around, and your
mother wouldn't like to see us around, and you--"

"Oh, don't!" Mary Hope drooped her face until her forehead rested on
Lance's arm.

Lance quivered a little. "Girl--girl, what is it about you that drives
a man mad with tenderness for you, sometimes?" He slipped his free arm
around her shoulders, pressed her close. "Oh, girl--girl! Don't hate
Lance--just because he's a Lorrigan. Be fairer than that." He bent
his head to kiss her, drew himself suddenly straight, his brows
frowning.

"There--run back and ask your mother what all she would like to have
done for her in town, and tell the doctor that I'll have the horse
ready for him in about two minutes. And be game--just go on being
game. Your friends will be here just as soon as I can get them here."
He turned into the stable and began saddling the horse.

Mary Hope, after a moment of indecision, went back to the house,
walking slowly, as though she dreaded entering again to take up the
heavy burden of sorrow that must be borne with all its sordid details,
all the meaningless little conventions that attend the passing of a
human soul. She had not loved her father very much. He was not a man
to be loved. But his going was a bereavement, would leave a desolate
emptiness in her life. Her mother would fill with weeping reminiscence
the hours she would have spent in complaining of his harshness. She
herself must somehow take charge of the ranch, must somehow fill her
father's place that seemed all at once so big, so important in her
world.

She looked back, wistfully, saw Lance leading out the horse. He had
told her to be game--to go on being game. She wondered if he knew just
how hard it was going to be for her. He had said that the Lorrigans
were strong, were harder to defeat, had always held their own. He was
proud because of their strength! She lifted her head, carefully wiped
the tears from her cheeks--Mary Hope seemed always to be wiping tears
from her cheeks lately!--and opened the door. The Lorrigans? Very
well, there was also the Douglas blood, and that was not weaker than
the Lorrigan.

She was quite calm, quite impersonal when she gave Lance a list of the
pitifully small errands she and her mother would be grateful if he
would perform for them. Her lips did not quiver, her hands did not
tremble when she