Do you think so?"

"I must again say that I do not understand."

"Why, don't you know that we meet many persons, and become quite well
acquainted with them, and yet never feel that they belong to our
atmosphere? They are not necessary to the story of our lives, so to
speak, and yet that atmosphere of which they are not really a part,
would not be wholly complete without them. They stand ready for our
side talks; sometimes they even flip a sentiment at us. We catch it,
trim it with ribbons and hand it back. They keep it; we forget. The
Blakemores are such persons. We may never see them again--may almost
wholly forget them, and yet something that we have said may influence
their lives. And perhaps to Mr. Milford, we are but side-lights. He may
soon be in his saddle again, forgetting that he ever knew us. But are we
to forget him? Has his light been strong enough to dazzle us?"

"I shall not forget him, madam."

"Then he may have made himself essential to the story of your life."

"He has made himself a part of my recollection."

"No more than that? Sometimes we recall because it is no trouble, and
sometimes we remember with pain. You know, Gunhild, that I think a great
deal of you."

"I can never forget that. It is an obligation--"

"Now, my child, I don't want you to look at it that way. You must not.
What I have done has given me pleasure. And if I deserve any reward, it
is--well, frankness."

"You deserve more than that--gratitude."

"Then let frankness be an expression of gratitude. Are you in love with
that man?"

"Madam, a long time ago I used to slip to the door of the dining-room of
the little hotel in the West and peep in at him. They said he was bad,
that he would kill; but he came like a cavalier, with his spurs
jingling, and fascinated me. I felt that my own spirit if turned loose
would be as wild as his, for had not my forefathers fought on the sea
till the waves were bloody about them, and had they not dashed madly
into wild lands? I peeped in at him; I did not speak to him; but I
watched for his coming. And late at night I have lain awake to hear his
wild song in the bar-room, just below me. One day I met him in the
passage-way, and looked into his eyes, with my heart in my own, I
feared; and I did not see him again till I came out here. I did not know
his name. They called him Hell-in-the-Mud."

Mrs. Goodwin did not remain quiet to hear the story. With many
exclamations, she walked up and d