man, for I got up the dance! And as I'm going away, I suppose I shall
bear off the sin with me into the wilderness."

"You're going away?" repeated Mrs. Wade in more genuine concern.

"Not for long," returned Brooks laughingly. "I came here to look up a
mill site, and I've found it. Meantime I think I've opened their eyes."

"You have opened mine," said the widow with timid frankness.

They were soft pretty eyes when opened, in spite of their heavy red
lids, and Mr. Brooks thought that Santa Ana would be no worse if they
remained open. Possibly he looked it, for Mrs. Wade said hurriedly, "I
mean--that is--I've been thinking that life needn't ALWAYS be as gloomy
as we make it here. And even HERE, you know, Mr. Brooks, we have six
months' sunshine--though we always forget it in the rainy season."

"That's so," said Brooks cheerfully. "I once lost a heap of money
through my own foolishness, and I've managed to forget it, and I even
reckon to get it back again out of Santa Ana if my mill speculation
holds good. So good-by, Mrs. Wade--but not for long." He shook her
hand frankly and departed, leaving the widow conscious of a certain
sympathetic confidence and a little grateful for--she knew not what.

This feeling remained with her most of the afternoon, and even imparted
a certain gayety to her spirits, to the extent of causing her to hum
softly to herself; the air being oddly enough the Julien Waltz. And
when, later in the day, the shadows were closing in with the rain,
word was brought to her that a stranger wished to see her in the
sitting-room, she carried a less mournful mind to this function of her