“For home?” a faint ray of light breaking from the word.  “Where does the girl live?  Do you know?”

“Sure; I ’m wise; she has a couple of dandy rooms over at the old fort, just across the creek; you know where that is, don’t you?”

She nodded silently, her eyes brightening with resolution.

“It ’s a blame tough bit of hiking to take alone on a dark night like this,” he commented gravely.  “You was n’t plannin’ to try any such trip as that, was you, Miss?”

“Oh, no; certainly not.  I’m going upstairs to wait for daylight.  But I thank you so much,” and she cordially extended her hand.  “You see, I—­I could hardly go to the Gayety myself at such an hour.”

The boy colored, still clasping the extended hand.  Something in her low tone had served to recall to his mind those hasty words uttered in the office.

“Sure not, Miss Norvell; it’s a bit tough, all right, for anybody like you down there at this time o’ night.”

She opened the door, the bright light from within shining about her slender figure, yet leaving her face still in shadow.

“Did—­did you chance to notice if Mr. Farnham remained in the dance hall?”

“Biff Farnham?” in sudden, choking surprise.  “Great guns, do you know him, too?  No, he was n’t there, but I can tell you where he is, all the same.  He ’s at the Palace Livery, saddling up, along with half a dozen other fellows.  I saw ’em as I come trottin’ along back, and wondered what the dickens was on tap at this time o’ night.”

The girl made no attempt to answer.  She stood clutching the edge of the door for support, her lips tightly compressed, feeling as if her heart would rise up and choke her.  She realized instantly that the crisis had arrived, that Winston’s life probably hung upon her next decision.  Twice she endeavored bravely to speak, and when she finally succeeded, the strange calmness other voice made her doubt her own sanity.

“Thank you,” she said gravely, “you have been most kind,—­good-night,” and vanished up the stairs.

Within the privacy of her own securely locked room Beth Norvell flung herself upon the narrow bed, not to sleep, not even to rest, but in an earnest effort to clarify her brain, to gain fresh conception of this grim reality which fronted her.  She realized now precisely what Ned Winston stood for in her life—­must ever stand for until the bitter end.  There was no upbraiding, no reviling.  Not in the slightest degree did she even attempt to deceive herself; with set, tearless eyes, and without a sigh of regret, she simply faced the naked truth.  She had made the mistake herself; now she must bear the burden of discovery.  It was not the dull inertia of fatalism, but rather the sober decision of a woman who had been tried in the fire, who understood her own heart, and comprehended the strength of her own will.  Personal suffering and sacrifice were no new chapters written