Wander came on at last to the house, making his way deliberately and scorning, it would seem, all chance of attack.  But Honora’s ears fairly reverberated with the pistol shot which did not come; the explosion which was now so long delayed.  She ran to open the door for him and to drag him into the friendly kitchen, where, in the absence of any domestic help, she had spread their evening meal.

There was a look in his face which she had not seen there before—­a look of quietude, of finality.

“Well?” she asked.

He flung his hat on a settle and sat down to loosen his leggings.

“They’ve gone,” he said, “bag and baggage.”

“The miners?”

“Yes, left this afternoon—­confiscated some trains and made the crews haul them out of town.  They shook their fists at the mines and the works as if they had been the haunt of the devil.  I couldn’t bring myself to skulk.  I rode Nell right down to the station and sat there till the last carload pulled out with the men and women standing together on the platform to curse me.”

“Karl!  How could you?  It’s a marvel you weren’t shot.”

“Too easy a mark, I reckon.”

“And Elena?”

“Lifted on board by two rival suitors.  She didn’t even look at me.”  He drew a long breath.  “I was guiltless in that, Honora.  You’ve stood by through everything, and you’ve made a cult of believing in me, and I want you to know that, so far as Elena was concerned, you were right to do it.  I may have been a fool—­but not consciously—­not consciously.”

“I know it.  I believe you.”

A silence fell between them while Honora set the hot supper on the table and put the tea to draw.

“It’s very still,” he said finally.  “But the stillness here is nothing to what it is down where my village stood.  I’ve made a frightful mess of things, Honora.”

“No,” she said, “you built up; another has torn down.  You must get more workmen.  There may be a year or two of depression, but you’re going to win out, Karl.”

“I’ve fought a good many fights first and last, Honora,—­fights you know nothing about.  Some of them have been with men, some with ideas, some of the worst ones with myself.  It would be a long story and a strange one if I were to tell it all.”

“I dare say it would.”

“I suppose I must seem very strange to a civilized woman like you, or—­or your friend, Kate Barrington.”

“You seem very like a brave man, Karl, and an interesting one.”

“But I’m tired, Honora,—­extraordinarily tired.  I don’t feel like fighting.  Quiet and rest are what I’m longing for, and I’m to begin all over again, it appears.  I’ve got to struggle up again almost from the bottom.”

“Come to supper, Karl.  Never mind all that.  We have food and we have shelter.  No doubt we shall sleep.  Things like that deserve our gratitude.  Accept these blessings.  There are many who lack them.”