ands,
I'm sure. And she would have me go--she would have me do as I am doing."

She knew finally, then, that she could never tell him. She ceased all
vain considering of that. He was going away from her because of the lie
he believed. The truth might come to him some day, but it must never
come from her. The certainty brought her a kind of rest. She could fall
back on laughter and tears for the thing.

A long time they sat there, speaking little, her head still cradled on
his knees. But when the fire died they knew it must be late and rose to
go. Ewing looked long at the portrait, then turned to her.

"I'm doing what I would do for her," he said, "and I'm glad I had you
both with me this last time. You'll always keep that for me, won't you?"
He raised a hand toward the portrait.

"If you wish it," she said.

When they came in sight of the camp fire they stopped and turned to each
other. He caught her by the shoulders.

"Good night and good-by!" he whispered.

She tried to speak, but could not for the trembling of her lips. She
turned to go, and took a few faltering steps, then flew back, and with a
wild gesture, drew him down and pressed his head against her heart.

Ben came sleepily from the cabin next morning as Ewing was about to
mount his horse. He had felt at ease about this journey, because of the
slender equipment with which Ewing was setting out. An early return was
to be inferred.

Ewing held out his hand, and Ben, observing that it was scarce daylight,
and that the act could in no way be considered a public scandal, grasped
it cordially.

"So long, Kid--and good luck, whatever you're goin' to do!"

"There's a man down in New York needs killing, Ben."

"Now, look a here, Kid, you better look out"--but the practical aspects
of the affair at once seized his mind, and he broke off with, "Got your
gun?"

"No--a gun's too good for him."

Ben considered this, and became again solicitous.

"Well, look a here, now, you be darned careful. If it's needed, why, do
it. But you jest want to remember that New York ain't Hinsdale County.
You want to be mighty careful you don't git into some trouble over it."

CHAPTER XXX

THE HARDEST THING

The zest had gone from camp life with Ewing's departure, and the cabin
was again occupied. Mrs. Laithe filled the days with a sort of blind
waiting. It could not end so, she felt, despite the eyes of Kitty
Teevan, so watchful of her, and so certain that it ha