alone. It struck him that the shadows in her eyes had deepened. She
was, he could see plainly, laboring under a tension of repressed
excitement. The misery of her soul leaped out at him when she looked
his way.

"Have you anything to tell me?" he asked, and his low, gentle voice was
a comfort to her raw nerves.

"It's a man, just as I thought--the man she works for."

"Is he married?"

"No. Going to be soon, the papers say. He's a wealthy promoter. His
name's Cunningham."

"What Cunningham?" In his astonishment the words seemed to leap from
him of their own volition.

"James Cunningham, a big land and mining man. You must have heard of
him."

"Yes, I've heard of him. Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Esther won't tell me a thing. She's shielding him. But
I went through her letters and found a note from him. It's signed 'J.
C.' I accused him point-blank to her and she just put her head down on
her arms and sobbed. I know he's the man."

"What do you mean to do?"