tense stillness which jarred in an extraordinary degree.

"A desperate, dark night," he said suddenly. He was merely voicing his
thought aloud.

The sound of his voice roused the other from his reverie. The Padre
lifted his head and removed the pipe from between his teeth.

"Yes--and hot. Throw us your tobacco."

Buck pitched his pouch across, but remained where he was.

"Guess that leddy's down at the farm by now," Buck went on. "Joan was
guessing she'd get around to-day. That's why I didn't go along there."

"Yes, she is there." The Padre lit his pipe and smoked steadily.

Buck turned quickly.

"How d'you know?"

"I met her on the trail. They missed their way this morning and hit
the trail below here, at the foot of the steps."

"You didn't--let her see you?" Buck asked, after a pause.

The Padre smiled.

"I spoke to her. I put her on the right trail."

"You spoke to her?" Buck's tone was half incredulous. "Did
she--recognize you?"

The other nodded.

"You see, I've not changed much--except for my hair."

"What did she do--say?"

The Padre's smile remained.

"Said--I should see her again."

For some moments the two men faced each other across the room. The
yellow lamplight plainly revealed their different expressions. The
Padre's smile was inimitable in its sphinx-like obscurity, but Buck's
eyes were frankly troubled.

"And that means?" Buck's question rang sharply.

"She has neither forgotten nor--forgiven."

Buck returned abruptly to his contemplation of the night, but his
thoughts were no longer the happy thoughts of the lover. Without
knowing it he was proving to himself that there were other things in
the world which could entirely obscure the happy light which the
presence of Joan shed upon his life.

The Padre sat back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head,
while his pipe burned hot and the smoke of it rose thickly. It was the
only outward sign he gave of any emotion. Buck suddenly forgot the
night. A desperate thought was running hotly through his brain. His
friend's admission had set his fertile young brain working furiously.
It was traveling just whither a vivid imagination carried it. A
reckless purpose was swiftly formulating.

After a while he turned again. His resolve was taken on the impulse of
the moment.

"Padre," he said, "you shall never----" But his sentence remained
incomplete. He broke off, listening.

The other was listening too.

There was the s