tability, I know," answered Wayland, slowly. "But
I don't like to take her away from here--from you."

"If you hadn't come she would have married Cliff--and what kind of a life
would she have led with him?" demanded McFarlane. "I knew Cliff was
rough, but I couldn't convince her that he was cheap. I live only for her
happiness, my boy, and, though I know you will take her away from me, I
believe you can make her happy, and so--I give her over to you. As to
time and place, arrange that--with--her mother." He turned and walked
away, unable to utter another word.

Wayland's throat was aching also, and he went back into the house with a
sense of responsibility which exalted him into sturdier manhood.

Berea met him in a pretty gown, a dress he had never seen her wear, a
costume which transformed her into something entirely feminine.

She seemed to have put away the self-reliant manner of the trail, and in
its stead presented the lambent gaze, the tremulous lips of the bride. As
he looked at her thus transfigured his heart cast out its hesitancy and
he entered upon his new adventure without further question or regret.

XV

A MATTER OF MILLINERY

It was three o'clock of a fine, clear, golden afternoon as they said
good-by to McFarlane and started eastward, as if for a little drive.
Berrie held the reins in spite of Wayland's protestations. "These
bronchos are only about half busted," she said. "They need watching. I
know them better than you do." Therefore he submitted, well knowing that
she was entirely competent and fully informed.

Mrs. McFarlane, while looking back at her husband, sadly exclaimed: "I
feel like a coward running away like this."

"Forget it, mother," commanded her daughter, cheerily. "Just imagine
we're off for a short vacation. I'm for going clear through to Chicago.
So long as we _must_ go, let's go whooping. Father's better off without
us."

Her voice was gay, her eyes shining, and Wayland saw her as she had been
that first day in the coach--the care-free, laughing girl. The trouble
they were fleeing from was less real to her than the happiness toward
which she rode.

Her hand on the reins, her foot on the brake, brought back her
confidence; but Wayland did not feel so sure of his part in the
adventure. She seemed so unalterably a part of this life, so fitted to
this landscape, that the thought of transplanting her to the East brought
uneasiness and question. Could such a creature of