determining not to look at her again, betook himself to a distant and
contemplative pipe. In vain did Miss Euphemia address herself to the
ostentatious getting of the dinner in full view of him; in vain did
she bring the coffee-pot away from the fire, and nearer Rand, with the
apparent intention of examining its contents in a better light; in vain,
while wiping a plate, did she, absorbed in the distant prospect, walk
to the verge of the mountain, and become statuesque and forgetful. The
sulky young gentleman took no outward notice of her.

Mrs. Sol's attendance upon Mornie prevented her leaving the cabin, and
Rand and Miss Euphemia dined in the open air alone. The ridiculousness
of keeping up a formal attitude to his solitary companion caused Rand
to relax; but, to his astonishment, the "Pet" seemed to have become
correspondingly distant and formal. After a few moments of discomfort,
Rand, who had eaten little, arose, and "believed he would go back to
work."

"Ah, yes!" said the "Pet," with an indifferent air, "I suppose you must.
Well, good-by, Mr. Pinkney."

Rand turned. "YOU are not going?" he asked, in some uneasiness.

"I'VE got some work to do too," returned Miss Euphemia a little curtly.

"But," said the practical Rand, "I thought you allowed that you were
fixed to stay until to-morrow?"

But here Miss Euphemia, with rising color and slight acerbity of voice,
was not aware that she was "fixed to stay" anywhere, least of all when
she was in the way. More than that, she MUST say--although perhaps it