Very thankfully she sank down at last upon the bed in the bare guest-room.  Her weariness was such that she thought that she must sleep, yet for hours she lay wide awake, listening to the rain streaming down and pondering—­pondering the future.  Her romance was ended.  She saw that very clearly.  Whatever came of her meeting with Guy, it would not be—­it could not be—­the consummation to which she had looked forward so confidently during the past five years.  Guy had failed her.  She faced the fact with all her courage.  The Guy she had loved and trusted did not exist any longer, if he ever had existed.  Life had changed for her.  The path she had followed had ended suddenly.  She must needs turn back and seek another.  But whither to turn she knew not.  It seemed that there was no place left for her anywhere.

Slowly the long hours dragged away.  She thought the night would never pass.  Her knee gave her a good deal of pain, and she relinquished all hope of sleep.  Her thoughts began to circle about Burke Ranger in a worried, confused fashion.  She felt she would know him better when she had seen Guy.  At present the likeness between them alternately bewildered her or hurt her poignantly.  She could not close her mind to the memory of having taken him for Guy.  He was the sort of man—­only less polished—­that she had believed Guy would become.  She tried to picture him as he must have been when younger, but she could see only Guy.  And again the bitter longing, the aching disappointment, tore her soul.

Towards morning she dozed, but physical discomfort and torturing anxiety went with her unceasingly, depriving her of any real repose.  She was vaguely aware of movements in the house long before a low knock at the door called her back to full consciousness.

She started up on her elbows.  “Come in!  I am awake.”

Burke Ranger presented himself.  “I was afraid Mary Ann might give you a shock if she woke you suddenly,” he said.  “Can I come in?”

“Please do!” she said.

The sight of his tanned face and keen eyes came as a great relief to her strained and weary senses.  She held out a welcoming hand, dismissing convention as superfluous.

He came to her side and took her hand, but in a moment his fingers were feeling for her pulse.  He looked straight down at her.  “You’ve had a bad night,” he said.

She admitted it, mustering a smile as she did so.  “It rained so hard, I couldn’t forget it.  Has it left off yet?”

He paid no attention whatever to the question.  “What’s the trouble?” he said.  “Knee bad?”

“Not very comfortable,” she confessed.  “It will be better presently, no doubt.”

“I’ll dress if again,” said Burke, “when you’ve had some tea.  You had better stay in bed to-day.”

“Oh, must I?” she said in dismay.

“Don’t you want to?” said Burke.

“No.  I hate staying in bed.  It makes me so miserable.”  She spoke with vehemence.  Besides—­besides——­”