ves Reddon, and he is going to marry her
best friend!" Cold perspiration started from every pore in his body. He
had met the doom of love--the end of hope.

"He has always loved her," said Rosalie so calmly that he was shocked by
her courage. "I hope she will not ask him to wait."

Rosalie never understood why Bonner looked at her in amazement and said:

"By Jove, you are a--a marvel, Rosalie!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

The Blind Man's Eyes

Bonner went away without another word of love to her. He saw the
futility of hoping, and he was noble enough to respect her plea for
silence on the subject that seemed distasteful to her. He went as one
conquered and subdued; he went with the iron in his heart for the first
time--deeply imbedded and racking.

Bonner came twice from the place across the river. Anderson observed
that he looked "peaked," and Rosalie mistook the hungry, wan look in his
face for the emaciation natural to confinement indoors. He was whiter
than was his wont, and there was a dogged, stubborn look growing about
his eyes and mouth that would have been understood by the sophisticated.
It was the first indication of the battle his love was to wage in days
to come. He saw no sign of weakening in Rosalie. She would not let him
look into her brave little heart, and so he turned his back upon the
field and fled to Boston, half beaten, but unconsciously collecting his
forces for the strife of another day. He did not know it then, nor did
she, but his love was not vanquished; it had met its first rebuff, that
was all.

Tinkletown was sorry to see him depart, but it thrived on his promise to
return. Every one winked slyly behind his back, for, of course,
Tinkletown understood it all. He would come back often and then not at
all--for the magnet would go away with him in the end. The busybodies,
good-natured but garrulous, did not have to rehearse the story to its
end; it would have been superfluous. Be it said here, however, that
Rosalie was not long in settling many of the speculators straight in
their minds. It seemed improbable that it should not be as they had
thought and hoped. The news soon reached Blootch Peabody and Ed Higgins,
and, both eager to revive a blighted hope, in high spirits, called to
see Rosalie on the same night. It is on record that neither of them
uttered two dozen words between eight o'clock and ten, so bitterly was
the presence of the other resented.

March came, and with it, to the