ond time that morning a slow colour mounted to his cheeks. A row of four leather-cushioned chairs stood on one side beneath the windows near a large flat-topped desk that faced the door; on the other side was another desk similar to the first, and behind it and along the wall were large filing cabinets and general office fixtures; at the far end was the open door of a vault, the safe within. Three persons were in the room. A young man in plain, dark uniform was at the side desk; by the other, standing, her back half-turned, a girl leaned close to the chair in which sat a short, broad-shouldered man in gold-trimmed uniform, with clean-shaven face and iron-grey hair. The girl turned quickly, slim and lithe and graceful, as they entered.
Marston was taking some papers from his pocket.
"Good-morning, Warden Rand," he said, as he laid them on the desk.
"Hello, Sheriff!" returned the warden, rising and shoving his hand out cordially to Marston; then, half turning: "Janet, you know Sheriff Mars—"
"Indeed, I do, dad"—the girl was already moving around the desk to meet the big, kindly-faced County officer.
For the bare fraction of a second, blue eyes met Varge's blankly and passed him by—there was neither thought, nor concern, nor cognisance even of his presence in the look, as she quickly asked a few homely questions of the sheriff, of his wife and family, of friends in Berley Falls.
Warden Rand picked up the papers, and glanced through them.
"Here, Stall!" he said, extending them to the clerk
