was herself, borne away on his saddle-horn by
the strong mountaineer, who held her safely in the hollow of his arm.
And then the years followed, and she always looked to the mountaineer
for the protection and the love that were never wanting, but it was
always the protection and love of one older and stronger than herself,
one who belonged to the generation preceding her own.

Mr. Grayson, Harley, and the others were gone, and she heard no voices
in the next parlor. She realized with suddenness how strongly and in how
brief a time this little group, travelling through a vast country, had
become welded together by the very circumstances of their travel--the
comradeship of the road--and she sighed. She and Mrs. Grayson were about
to leave them and return to the Grayson home in the West, because women,
no matter how nearly related, could not be taken all the way on an
arduous campaign of six months. She had enjoyed this life, which was
almost the life of a soldier--the crowds, the enthusiasm, the murmur,
then the cheers of thousands of voices, the flight on swift trains from
one city to another, the dash for the station sometimes before daylight,
and all the freshness and keenness of youth about her. She had
affiliated, she had become one of the group, and now that she was to
leave it for a while she had a deep sense of loss.

There was a step beside her, and Mrs. Grayson, the quiet, the tactful,
and the observant, entered.

"Why, Sylvia," she said, "you are sitting in the dark!"

She touched the button, turned on the electric lights, and noticed the
letter lying in the girl's hand. Her glance passed swiftly to Sylvia's
face and as swiftly passed away. She knew instinctively the writer of
the letter, but she said nothing, waiting for Sylvia herself to speak.

"I have a letter from Mr. Plummer," said Sylvia.

"What does he say?"

"Not much besides his arrival at Boise--just some foolishness of his;
you know how he loves to jest."

"Yes, I have long known that," said Mrs. Grayson, but she noticed that
Sylvia made no offer to show the letter. Hitherto the letters of "King"
Plummer had been read by all the Graysons as a matter of course, just as
one shares interesting news.

"He is a good man, and he will be a good husband," said Mrs. Grayson.
She was for the moment ruthless with a purpose, and when she said the
words, although affecting not to watch, she saw the girl flinch--ever so
little, but still she flinched.