ote, without detail or
context. He had been little more than a boy. No doubt it was to save his
own life. And so she bore the hurt of her discovery all the more easily
because her sister's tone roused her to defend her cow-boy.

But now!

In her cabin, alone, after midnight, she arose from her sleepless bed,
and lighting the candle, stood before his photograph.

"It is a good face," her great-aunt had said, after some study of it.
And these words were in her mind now. There his likeness stood at full
length, confronting her: the spurs on the boots, the fringed leathern
chaparreros, the coiled rope in hand, the pistol at hip, the rough
flannel shirt, and the scarf knotted at the throat--and then the grave
eyes, looking at her. It thrilled her to meet them, even so. She could
read life into them. She seemed to feel passion come from them, and then
something like reproach. She stood for a long while looking at him, and
then, beating her hands together suddenly, she blew out her light and
went back into bed, but not to sleep.

"You're looking pale, deary," said Mrs. Taylor to her, a few days later.

"Am I?"

"And you don't eat anything."

"Oh, yes, I do." And Molly retired to her cabin.

"George," said Mrs. Taylor, "you come here."

It may seem severe--I think that it was severe. That evening when
Mr. Taylor came home to his family, George received a thrashing for
disobedience.

"And I suppose," said Mrs. Taylor to her husband, "that she came out
just in time to stop 'em breaking Bob Carmody's neck for him."

Upon the day following Mrs. Taylor essayed the impossible. She took
herself over to Molly Wood's cabin. The girl gave her a listless
greeting, and the dame sat slowly down, and surveyed the comfortable
room.

"A very nice home, deary," said she, "if it was a home. But you'll fix
something like this in your real home, I have no doubt."

Molly made no answer.

"What we're going to do without you I can't see," said Mrs. Taylor.
"But I'd not have it different for worlds. He'll be coming back soon, I
expect."

"Mrs. Taylor," said Molly, all at once, "please don't say anything now.
I can't stand it." And she broke into wretched tears.

"Why, deary, he--"

"No; not a word. Please, please--I'll go out if you do."

The older woman went to the younger one, and then put her arms round
her. But when the tears were over, they had not done any good; it was
not the storm that clears the sky--all storms do not