smile and action, and his face darkened again.

For her solo Mary selected one which expressed in simple words the
capabilities each humble soul had for doing good. If one could not storm
the stars in song one could bathe a weary brow. If one could not write a
mighty poem one could speak a word of cheer to the toiler by the way.

It was all poor stuff enough, but the singer filled it with significance
and appeal. At the moment it seemed as if such things were really worth
doing. Each word came from her lips as though it had never been uttered
by human lips before, so simple, so musical, so finely enunciated, so
well valued was it. To Harold, so long separated from any approach to
womanly art, it appealed with enormous power. He was not only
sensitive, he was just come to the passion and impressionability of
full-blooded young manhood. Powers converged upon him, and simple and
direct as he was, the effects were confusion and deepest dejection. He
heard nothing but Mary's voice, saw nothing but her radiant beauty. To
him she was more wonderful than any words could express.

At the end of the singing he refused to wait till she came down the
aisle, but hurried out into the open air away from the crowd. As Jack
caught up with him he said: "You go to bed; I've got to take a run out
into the country or I can't sleep at all. Father will be up in the
morning, I suppose. I'll get off in the six o'clock train to-morrow
night."

Jack said nothing, not even in assent, and Mose set off up the lane with
more of mental torment than had ever been his experience before.
Hitherto all had been simple. He loved horses, the wild things, the
trail, the mountains, the ranch duties, and the perfect freedom of a man
of action. Since the door of his prison opened to allow him to escape
into the West he had encountered no doubts, had endured no remorse, and
had felt but little fear. All that he did was forthright, manly,
single-purposed, and unhesitating.

Now all seemed changed. His horses, his guns, the joys of free spaces,
were met by a counter allurement which was the voice of a woman. Strong
as he was, stern as he looked, he was still a boy in certain ways, and
this mental tumult, so new and strange to him, wearied him almost to
tears. It was a fatigue, an ache which he could not shake off, and when
he returned to the hotel he had settled nothing and was ready to flee
from it all without one backward look. However, he slept soundlier tha