Who was the "he" from whom came the orders? and most important of all, what was in the pack age now resting in the great safe?
Mr. Magee smiled. Was this the stuff of which solitude was made? He recalled the ludicrous lit erary tale he had invented to balance the moving fiction of Arabella, and his smile grew broader. His imagination, at least, was in a healthy state. He looked at his watch. A quarter of twelve* Probably they were having supper at the Plaza now, and Helen Faulkner was listening to the banalities of young Williams. He settled in his seat to think of Miss Faulkner. He thought of her for ten seconds; then stepped to the window.
The moon had risen, and the snowy roofs of Upper Asquewan Falls sparkled in the lime-light of the heavens. Under one of those roofs was the girl of the station—weeping no more, he hoped. Certainly she had eyes that held even the least sus ceptible—to which class Mr. Magee prided him self he belonged. He wished he might see her again; might talk to her without interruption from that impossible "mamma."
Mr. Magee turned back into the room. His
