She longed to cry out, to plead with him, to demand that he tell
her why he must do this thing; but she dared not. She knew, instinctively
that he must fight alone. So she watched and waited and prayed. As they
were crossing the face of the canyon wall, on the narrow ledge, the man
stopped and, as though forgetting the girl's presence, stood looking
moodily down into the depths below. Then they went on. That night, he did
not leave the cabin as soon as they had finished their evening meal, but
sat on one of the rude seats with which the little hut was furnished,
gazing into the fire.
The girl's heart beat quicker, as he said, "Miss Andres, I would like to
ask your opinion in a matter that I cannot decide satisfactorily to
myself."
She took the seat on the other side of the rude fireplace.
"What is it, Mr. Marston?"
"I will put it in the form of a story," he answered. Then, after a wait of
some minutes, as though he found it hard to begin, he said, "It is an old
story, Miss Andres; a very common one, but with a difference. A young man,
with every chance in the world to go right, went wrong. He was well-born.
He was fairly well educated. His father was a man of influence and
considerable means.
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