ted her, and when the father
entered, there was little outward sign of the passionate drama just
enacted.

"Won't you sing for us, Mary?" asked Jack a few minutes later.

Mary looked at Harold significantly and arose to comply. Harold sat with
head propped on his palm and eyes fixed immovably upon her face while
she sang, If I Were a Voice. The voice was stronger, sweeter, and the
phrasing was more mature, but it was after all the same soul singing
through the prison gloom, straight to his heart. She charged the words
with a special, intimate, tender meaning. She conveyed to him the
message she dared not speak, "Be true in spite of all. My heart is sore
for you, let me comfort you."

He, on his part, realized that one who could sing like that had a wider
mission in the world than to accompany a cowboy to the bleak plains of
the West. To comfort him was a small part of her work in the world. It
was her mission to go on singing solace and pleasure to thousands all
over the nation.

When she had finished he arose and offered his hand with a singular
calmness which moved the girl more deeply than any word he had said.
"When you sing that song, think of me, sometimes, will you?"

"Yes--always," she replied.

"Good-by," he said abruptly. Dropping her-hand, he went out without
speaking another word.

Jack, taking her hand in parting, found it cold and nerveless.

"May I see you again before we go?" he asked.

Her eyes lighted a little and her hand tightened in his. "Yes--I want to
speak with you," she said, and ended in a whisper, "about him."

Jack overtook Harold but remained silent. When they reached their room,
Harold dropped into a chair like one exhausted by a fierce race.

"This ends it, Jack, I'll never set foot in the States again; from this
time on I keep to the mountains."

CHAPTER XIII

THE YOUNG EAGLE DREAMS OF A MATE

As the young men sat at supper that night a note was handed to Jack by
the clerk. Upon opening it he found a smaller envelope addressed to "Mr.
Harding." Harold took it, but did not open it, though it promised well,
being quite thick with leaves. Jack read his note at a glance and passed
it across the table. It was simple:

"DEAR MR. BURNS: Won't you please see that the inclosed note
reaches Harold. I wish you could persuade him to come and see me
once more before he goes. I shall expect to see _you_ anyhow.
Father does not suspect anything out of the ordin