"And I suppose," said Mrs. Taylor to her husband, "that she came out just in time to stop 'em breaking Bob Carmody's neck for him."
Upon the day following Mrs. Taylor essayed the impossible. She took herself over to Molly Wood's cabin. The girl gave her a listless greeting, and the dame sat slowly down, and surveyed the comfortable room.
"A very nice home, deary," said she, "if it was a home. But you'll fix something like this in your real home, I have no doubt."
Molly made no answer.
"What we're going to do without you I can't see," said Mrs. Taylor. "But I'd not have it different for worlds. He'll be coming back soon, I expect."
"Mrs. Taylor," said Molly, all at once, "please don't say anything now. I can't stand it." And she broke into wretched tears.
"Why, deary, he—"
"No; not a word. Please, please—I'll go out if you do."
The older woman went to the younger one, and then put her arms round her. But when the tears were over, they had not done any good; it was not the storm that clears the sky—all storms do not clear the sky. And Mrs. Taylor looked at the pale girl and saw that she could do nothing to help her toward peace of mind.
"Of course," she said to her husband, after returning from her profitless errand, "you might know she'd feel dreadful."
"What about?" said Taylor.
"Why, you know just as well as I do. And I'll
