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He seized her hand and wrung it, and was gone. Kate saw him no more that night.

The next morning the major returned. Kate threw her arms around his neck and wept.

“I want the babies,” she explained when the major showed his consternation. “Don’t mind my crying. You ought to be used to seeing me cry by this time. I must get home, that’s all. I must see Jack.”

So that night they started.

At the door of the carriage stood Peter Roeder, waiting.

“I’m going t’ ride down with you,” he said. The major looked nonplussed.

Kate got in and the major followed.

“Come,” she said to Roeder. He sat opposite and looked at her as if he would fasten her image on his mind.

“You remember,” he said after a time, “that I told you I used t’ dream of sittin’ on the veranda of th’ hotel and havin’ nothin’ t’ do?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think I care fur it. I’ve had a month of it. I’m goin’ back up th’ gulch.”

“No!” cried Kate, instinctively reaching out her hands toward him.

“Why not? I guess you don’t know me. I knew that somewhere I’d find a friend. I found that friend; an’ now I’m alone again. It’s pretty quiet up thar in the gulch; but I’ll try it.”

“No, no. Go to Europe; go to see your mother.”

“I thought about that a good deal, a while ago. But I don’t seem t’ have no heart fur it now. I feel as if I’d be safer in th’ gulch.”

“Safer?”

“The world looks pretty big. It’s safe and close in th’ gulch.”

At the station the major went to look after the trunks, and Roeder put Kate in her seat.

“I wanted t’ give you something ” he said, seating himself beside her, “but I didn’t dare.”

“Oh, my dear friend,” she cried, laying her little gloved hand on his red and knotted one, “don’t go back into the shadow. Do not return to that terrible silence. Wait. Have patience. Fate has brought you wealth. It will bring you love.”

“I’ve somethin’ to ask,” he said, paying no attention to her appeal. “You must answer it. If we ‘a’ met long ago, an’ you hadn’t a husband or–anythin’–do you think you’d’ve loved me then?”

She felt herself turning white.

“No,” she said softly. “I could never have loved you, my dear friend. We are not the same. Believe me, there is a woman somewhere who will love you; but I am not that woman–nor could I have ever been.”

The train was starting. The major came bustling in.

“Well, good-by,” said Roeder, holding out his hand to Kate.

“Good-by,” she cried. “Don’t go back up the gulch.”

“Oh,” he said, reassuringly, “don’t you worry about me, my–don’t worry. The gulch is a nice, quiet place. An’ you know what I told you about th’ ranks all bein’ full. Good-by.” The train was well under way. He sprang off, and stood on the platform waving his handkerchief.

“Well, Kate,” said the major, seating himself down comfortably and adjusting his travelling cap, “did you find the Western type?”

“I don’t quite know,” said she, slowly. “But I have made the discovery that a human soul is much the same wherever you meet it.”

“Dear me! You haven’t been meeting a soul, have you?” the major said, facetiously, unbuckling his travelling-bag. “I’ll tell Jack.”

“No, I’ll tell Jack. And he’ll feel quite as badly as I do to think that I could do nothing for its proper adjustment.”

The major’s face took on a look of comprehension.

“Was that the soul,” he asked, “that just came down in the carriage with us?”

“That was it,” assented Kate. “It was born; it has had its mortal day; and it has gone back up the gulch.”