they should turn in.

There was a bunk fixed against the wall, and he threw his comrade's
blankets into it.

"It's all I can do for you to-night, old man. Come to Heyington next
year, and I 'll treat you better."

"Thanks," said Turner. "No such luck for me." Then he spoke the thought
that had been in his mind all the evening.

"I say, that girl hasn't come in."

"She's all right, she can sleep out then. I can't say it'll cool her
temper, for it's as hot as blazes still. Good night, old chap."

Turner lay awake long after the light was out, staring up at the
unceiled roof, at the faint light that marked the open doorway and the
window, thinking, thinking, wondering at his own discontent, thinking of
the fair-haired, blue-eyed girl he had loved so well and so long. It
was all over between them now, all over; there had never been anything
except on his side, never anything at all, and now it was not much good
his even thinking of her. She would marry Dick Stanesby and never know,
never dream----

His thoughts wandered to that other girl, it was no business of his, but
it worried him nevertheless, as things that are no concern of ours do
worry us when we lie wakeful on our beds, and the _girl's_ beautiful,
angry face haunted him. He thought of her there down by the creek,
alone in her dumb pain, so young, so ignorant, so beautiful. There was
something wrong in the scheme of creation somewhere, something wrong,
or why were such as she born but to suffer. His life was hard, cruelly
hard, he had known better things; but she--she--hers had been hard all
along. Had she known any happiness? he wondered. He supposed she had if
she cared for Dick Stanesby. When first she came, unasked and unsought,
he had been good to her; he knew his friend, he had known him from
a boy, easy-going, good-natured, with no thought for the future for
himself, how could he expect him to think for another? He had been good
to her--oh, yes, he knew Dick Stanesby--very good to her, but he had
taken no thought for her future any more than he would for his own. He
would go into the head-station with him to-morrow morning, he very much
doubted if he would come back. He would intend to at first, but it would
be very much easier to stay, and he would stay, and the girl--what
would become of her? He found himself saying it over and over again to
himself, what would become of her? What could become of her? till he
fell into an uneasy doze and dreamed t