hat it contained.

The Duke's hair had grown long; shears had not touched his head since
his fight with Kerr's men. Jim Wilder's old scar was blue on his thin
cheek that day, for the wind had been cold to face. He was so solemn and
severe as he stood waiting at the door that it would seem to be a
triumph to make him smile.

Vesta came to the door herself, with such promptness that seemed to tell
she must have been near it from the moment his foot fell on the porch.

"I've come to settle up with you on our last deal, Vesta," he said.

She took him to the room in which they always transacted business, which
was a library in fact as well as name. It had been Philbrook's office in
his day. Lambert once had expressed his admiration for the room, a long
and narrow chamber with antlers on the walls above the bookcases, a
broad fireplace flanked by leaded casement windows. It was furnished
with deep leather chairs and a great, dark oak table, which looked as if
it had stood in some English manor in the days of other kings. The
windows looked out upon the river.

A pleasant place on a winter night, Lambert thought, with a log fire on
the dogs, somebody sitting near enough that one could reach out and find
her hand without turning his eyes from the book, the last warm touch to
crown the comfort of his happy hour.

"You mean our latest deal, not our last, I hope, Duke," she said,
sitting at the table, with him at the head of it like a baron returned
to his fireside after a foray in the field.

"I'm afraid it will be our last; there's nothing left to sell but the
fence."

She glanced at him with relief in her eyes, a quick smile coming happily
to her lips. He was busy with the account of calves and grown stock
which he had drawn from his wallet, the check lying by his hand. His
face taken as an index to it, there was not much lightness in his heart.
Soon he had acquitted himself of his stewardship and given the check
into her hand. Then he rose to leave her. For a moment he stood silent,
as if turning his thoughts.

"I'm going away," he said, looking out of the window down upon the tops
of the naked cottonwoods along the river.

Just around the corner of the table she was standing, half facing him,
looking at him with what seemed almost compassionate tenderness, so
sympathetic were her eyes. She touched his hand where it lay with
fingers on his hat-brim.

"Is it so hard for you to forget her, Duke?"

He looked at her