eyes and mouth, the like of which I have never run across since. I am
ashamed to think that I acted as I did, and she only an inexperienced
child; but I really couldn't help it. I seemed to be in a dream. It
was really an unpardonable thing--and proves that I _do_ lack
character--for me to tell her that I would often think of her. But the
worst of all, really the most cowardly, considering her unsuspecting
innocence and exaggerated faith in me, was my kissing her as I did
there in the moonlight. How exquisite was her vow that she'd never
kiss any other man as long as she lived! Lord, I wonder what ails me.
Surely I am not silly enough to be actually--"

Mostyn's meditations were interrupted by a shrill shriek from the
locomotive. Leaning out of the window, he saw the little old-fashioned
brick car-shed ahead and heard the grinding of the brakes on the
smooth wheels beneath the car. Grasping his bag in his hand, he made
his way out and descended to the ground.

He saw the long white three-story hotel close by with its green
blinds, extensive veranda, and blue-railed balustrade, the row of
stores and law-offices, forming three sides of a square of which the
car-shed, depot, and railway made the fourth. In the open space stood
some canvas-covered mountain-wagons containing produce for shipment to
the larger markets, and the usual male loungers in straw hats, baggy
trousers, easy shoes, and shirts without coats.

A burly negro porter hastened down the steps of the hotel and
approached swinging his slouch hat in his hand, his eyes on the
traveler's bag.

"All right, boss--Purcell House, fus'-class hotel, whar all de