The light annoyed her.  Complete darkness fitted her strange mood.  She retired and tried to compose herself to sleep.  Sleep for her was not a matter of will.  Her cheeks burned so hotly that she rose to bathe them.  Cold water would not alleviate this burn, and then, despairing of forgetfulness, she lay down again with a shameful gratitude for the cloak of night.  Stewart’s kisses were there, scorching her lips, her closed eyes, her swelling neck.  They penetrated deeper and deeper into her blood, into her heart, into her soul—­the terrible farewell kisses of a passionate, hardened man.  Despite his baseness, he had loved her.

Late in the night Madeline fell asleep.  In the morning she was pale and languid, but in a mental condition that promised composure.

It was considerably after her regular hour that Madeline repaired to her office.  The door was open, and just outside, tipped back in a chair, sat Stillwell.

“Mawnin’, Miss Majesty,” he said, as he rose to greet her with his usual courtesy.  There were signs of trouble in his lined face.  Madeline shrank inwardly, fearing his old lamentations about Stewart.  Then she saw a dusty, ragged pony in the yard and a little burro drooping under a heavy pack.  Both animals bore evidence of long, arduous travel.

“To whom do they belong?” asked Madeline.

“Them critters?  Why, Danny Mains,” replied Stillwell, with a cough that betrayed embarrassment.

“Danny Mains?” echoed Madeline, wonderingly.

“Wal, I said so.”

Stillwell was indeed not himself.

“Is Danny Mains here?” she asked, in sudden curiosity.

The old cattleman nodded gloomily.

“Yep, he’s hyar, all right.  Sloped in from the hills, an’ he hollered to see Bonita.  He’s locoed, too, about that little black-eyed hussy.  Why, he hardly said, ‘Howdy, Bill,’ before he begun to ask wild an’ eager questions.  I took him in to see Bonita.  He’s been there more ’n a half-hour now.”

Evidently Stillwell’s sensitive feelings had been ruffled.  Madeline’s curiosity changed to blank astonishment, which left her with a thrilling premonition.  She caught her breath.  A thousand thoughts seemed thronging for clear conception in her mind.

Rapid footsteps with an accompaniment of clinking spurs sounded in the hallway.  Then a young man ran out upon the porch.  He resembled a cowboy in his lithe build, his garb and action, in the way he wore his gun, but his face, instead of being red, was clear brown tan.  His eyes were blue; his hair was light and curly.  He was a handsome, frank-faced boy.  At sight of Madeline he slammed down his sombrero and, leaping at her, he possessed himself of her hands.  His swift violence not only alarmed her, but painfully reminded her of something she wished to forget.

This cowboy bent his head and kissed her hands and wrung them, and when he straightened up he was crying.