his life in his hand and return home openly. This life of exile was not
worth living.

One day, in the course of setting his affairs in order for his return,
he was visiting a mining camp remote from the settlements, when a voice
addressed him by his old name, and looking around he saw Pinney. The
latter's first words, as soon as his astonishment and delight had found
some expression, assured Lansing that he was no longer in danger. The
murderer of Austin' Flint had been discovered, convicted, and hanged two
years previous. As for Lansing, it had been taken for granted that he
was drowned when he leaped into the river, and there had been no further
search for him. His wife had been broken-hearted ever since, but she and
the children were otherwise well, according to the last letters
received by Pinney, who, with his wife, had moved out to Colorado a year
previous.

Of course Lansing's only idea now was to get home as fast as steam could
carry him; but they were one hundred miles from the railroad, and the
only communication was by stage. It would get up from the railroad the
next day, and go back the following morning. Pinney took Lansing out to
his ranch, some miles from the mining camp, to pass the interval. The
first thing he asked Mrs. Pinney was if she had a photograph of his
wife. When she brought him one, he durst not look at it before his
hosts. Not till he had gone to his room and locked the door did he trust
himself to see again the face of his beloved Mary.

That evening Mrs. Pinney told him how his wife and children had fared
in his absence. Her father had helped them at first, but after his death
Mary had depended upon needlework for support, finding it hard to make
the two ends meet.

Lansing groaned at hearing this, but Mrs. Pinney comforted him. It was
well worth while having troubles, she said, if they could be made up to
one, as all Mary's would be to her when she saw her husband.

The upcoming stage brought the mail, and next day Pinney rode into camp
to get his weekly newspaper, and engage a passage down the next morning
for Lansing. The day dragged terribly to the latter, who stayed at the
ranch. He was quite unfit for any social purpose, as Mrs. Pinney, to
whom a guest in that lonely place was a rare treat, found to her sorrow,
though indeed she could not blame him for being poor company. He passed
hours, locked in his room, brooding over Mary's picture. The rest of the
day he spent wandering