“Pardon me,” said Dorian, “but tell me how Mildred—­Miss Brown is?”

“She just died.”

“Thank you.”

The woman went into a nearby house.  Dorian moved away, benumbed with the despair which sank into his heart at the final setting of his sun.  Dead!  Mildred was dead!  He felt the night wind blow cold down the street, and he saw the storm clouds scudding along the distant sky.  In the deep blue directly above him a star shone brightly, but it only reminded him of what Uncle Zed had said about hitching to a star; yes, but what if the star had suddenly been taken from the sky!

A form of a girl darted across the street toward him.  He stopped and saw that it was Carlia.

“Dorian” she cried, “how is she?”

“She has just died.”

“Dead!  O, dear,” she wailed.

They stood there under the street light, the girl looking with great pity into the face of the young man.  She was only a girl, and not a very wise girl, but she saw how he suffered, and her heart went out to his heart.  She took his hand and held it firmly within her warmer grasp; and by that simple thing the young man seemed again to get within the reach of human sympathy.  Then they walked on without speaking, and she led him along the streets and on to the road which led to Greenstreet.

“Come on, Dorian, let’s go home,” she said.

“Yes; let’s go home, Carlia.”

CHAPTER SEVEN.

The death of Mildred Brown affected Dorian Trent most profoundly.  Not that he displayed any marked outward signs of his feelings, but his very soul was moved to its depths, sometimes as of despair, sometimes as of resentment.  Why, he asked himself, should God send—­he put it this way—­send to him this beautiful creature who filled his heart so completely, why hold her out to him as if inviting him to take her, and then suddenly snatch her away out of his life—­out of the life of the world!

For many days Dorian went about as if in a pained stupor.  His mother, knowing her boy, tried in a wise way to comfort him; but it was not altogether a success.  His studies were neglected, and he had thoughts of quitting school altogether; but he did not do this.  He dragged through the few remaining days until spring, when he eagerly went to work on the open reaches of the farm, where he was more away from human beings and nearer to that something in his heart.  He worked long and hard and faithfully that spring.

On the upper bank of the canal, where the sagebrush stood untouched, Dorian that summer found the first sego blossoms.  He had never observed them so closely before nor seen their real beauty.  How like Mildred they were!  He gathered a bouquet of them that Saturday afternoon as he went home, placed them in a glass of water, and then Sunday afternoon he wrapped them in a damp newspaper and took the bouquet with him to town.  His Sunday trips to the city