dulled, but there were memories over which
one might meditate until--until one could be certain of some things. This
was hope, insistently demanding delay of judgment. The girl could not
forget the sincere ring in Trevison's voice when he had told her that he
would never go back to Hester Harvey. Arrayed against this declaration was
the cold fact of Hester's visit, and Hester's statement that Trevison had
sent for her. In this jumble of contradiction hope found a fertile field.

If Corrigan had anticipated that the knowledge of Hester's visit to
Trevison would have the effect of centering Rosalind's interest on him, he
had erred. Corrigan was magnetic; the girl felt the lure of him. In his
presence she was continually conscious of his masterfulness, with a
dismayed fear that she would yield to it. She knew this sensation was not
love, for it lacked the fire and the depth of the haunting, breathless
surge of passion that she had felt when she had held Trevison off the day
when he had declared his love for her--that she felt whenever she thought
of him. But with Trevison lost to her--she did not know what would happen,
then. For the present her resentment was sufficient to keep her mind
occupied.

She had a dread of meeting Corrigan this morning. Also, Agatha's continued
deprecatory speeches had begun to annoy her, and at ten o'clock she
ordered one of the men to saddle her horse.

She rode southward, following a trail that brought her to Levins' cabin.
The cabin was built of logs, smoothly hewn and tightly joined, situated at
the edge of some timber in a picturesque spot at a point where a shallow
creek doubled in its sweep toward some broken country west of Manti.

Rosalind had visited Mrs. Levins many times. The warmth of her welcome on
her first visit had resulted in a quick intimacy which, with an immediate
estimate of certain needs by Rosalind, had brought her back in the role of
Lady Bountiful. "Chuck" and "Sissy" Levins welcomed her vociferously as
she splashed across the river to the door of the cabin this morning.

"You're clean spoilin' them, Miss Rosalind!" declared the mother, watching
from the doorway; "they've got so they expect you to bring them a present
every time you come."

Sundry pats and kisses sufficed to assuage the pangs of disappointment
suffered by the children, and shortly afterward Rosalind was inside the
cabin, talking with Mrs. Levins, and watching Clay, who was painstakingly
mending a