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“She certainly is unable to bear any exposure at present,” said the doctor, with an amused side glance at North’s perplexed face. “Miss Robinson is right. I’ll ride with you over the sands as far as the trail.”

“I’m afraid,” said North, feeling it incumbent upon him to say something, “that you’ll hardly find it as comfortable here as–“

“I reckon not,” she said simply, “but I didn’t expect much.”

North turned a little wearily away. “Good night,” she said suddenly, extending her hand, with a gentler smile of lip and eye than he had ever before noticed, “good night–take good care of Dad.”

The doctor and North rode together some moments in silence. North had another fact presented to him, i. e. that he was going a-visiting, and that he had virtually abandoned his former life; also that it would be profanation to think of his sacred woe in the house of a stranger.

“I dare say,” said the doctor, suddenly, “you are not familiar with the type of woman Miss Bessy presents so perfectly. Your life has been spent among the conventional class.”

North froze instantly at what seemed to be a probing of his secret. Disregarding the last suggestion, he made answer simply and truthfully that he had never met any Western girl like Bessy.

“That’s your bad luck,” said the doctor. “You think her coarse and illiterate?”

Mr. North had been so much struck with her kindness that really he had not thought of it.

“That’s not so,” said the doctor, curtly; “although even if you told her so she would not think any the less of you–nor of herself. If she spoke rustic Greek instead of bad English, and wore a cestus in place of an ill-fitting corset, you’d swear she was a goddess. There’s your trail. Good night.”

III

James North did not sleep well that night. He had taken Miss Bessy’s bedroom, at her suggestion, there being but two, and “Dad never using sheets and not bein’ keerful in his habits.” It was neat, but that was all. The scant ornamentation was atrocious; two or three highly colored prints, a shell work-box, a ghastly winter bouquet of skeleton leaves and mosses, a star-fish, and two china vases hideous enough to have been worshiped as Buddhist idols, exhibited the gentle recreation of the fair occupant, and the possible future education of the child. In the morning he was met by Joe, who received the message of his daughter with his usual dejection, and suggested that North stay with him until the child was better. That event was still remote; North found, on his return to his cabin, that the child had been worse; but he did not know, until Miss Bessy dropped a casual remark, that she had not closed her own eyes that night. It was a week before he regained his own quarters, but an active week–indeed, on the whole, a rather pleasant week. For there was a delicate flattery in being domineered by a wholesome and handsome woman, and Mr. James North had by this time made up his mind that she was both. Once or twice he found himself contemplating her splendid figure with a recollection of the doctor’s compliment, and later, emulating her own frankness, told her of it.

“And what did YOU say?” she asked.

“Oh, I laughed and said–nothing.”

And so did she.

A month after this interchange of frankness, she asked him if he could spend the next evening at her house. “You see,” she said, “there’s to be a dance down at the hall at Eureka, and I haven’t kicked a fut since last spring. Hank Fisher’s comin’ up to take me over, and I’m goin’ to let the shanty slide for the night.”

“But what’s to become of the baby?” asked North, a little testily.

“Well,” said Miss Robinson, facing him somewhat aggressively, “I reckon it won’t hurt ye to take care of it for a night. Dad can’t–and if he could, he don’t know how. Liked to have pizened me after mar died. No, young man, I don’t propose to ask Hank Fisher to tote thet child over to Eureka and back, and spile his fun.”