to her heart.

"He's going to live!"

The future delegate from the Territory had slunk away from the noisy
street to pen some line of acknowledgment to his friend the sheriff of
Blanco. He had succeeded, so he reasoned with himself insistently; and
yet a strange apathy, a sadness rather than exultation, enveloped him.
The world lay dull and gray around him. The price of his success had
been the sight of a face worth more to him than all else in the world.
He had won something, but had lost everything. His hand stopped, his
pencil fell upon the paper. He looked up--to see _her_ standing at his
door!

Dumb, unbelieving, he gazed and gazed. She turned from red to pale,
before his eyes, and still he could not speak. He knew that in an
instant the vision would fade away.

"Oh, why, hello!" said he at last, weakly.

"How--that is, how do you do?" Constance said, flushing adorably again.

"I didn't expect--I didn't know you were coming," stammered Dan Anderson.

She chilled at this, but went on wonderingly. "I got your letter--" she
began.

"Letter? My letter--_what_ letter?"

Constance looked at him fairly now, agitation sufficiently gone to
enable her to notice details. She saw that Dan Anderson's left arm was
supported upon the table, but apparently not seriously injured. And he
had been writing--with his _right_ hand--at this very moment! She
almost sank to the ground. There had been some cruel misunderstanding!
Was she always to be repudiated, shamed? She stood faltering, and would
have turned away.

But by this time Dan Anderson's own numbed faculties came back to him
with a rush. With a bound he was at her side, his right arm about her,
holding her close, strong.

"Constance!" he cried. "Constance! You! You!" He babbled many
things, his cheek pressed against hers. She could not speak.

"You see--you see--" exclaimed Dan Anderson, at length, half freeing her
to look the more directly into her eyes, and to assure himself once more
that it all was true--"I didn't understand at first. Of _course_, I
sent the letter. I wrote it. I couldn't wait--I couldn't endure it any
longer. Darling, I couldn't _live_ without you--and so I wrote, I
wrote! And you've come!"

"But your handwriting--" she murmured.

"Of course! of course!" said Dan Anderson. He was lying beautifully
now. "But of course you know I'm left-handed, and my left arm got hurt
a while ago, so I couldn't use that hand. I