Because of Stephen by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

gone; but the old woman shut her lips and shook her head. She did not like to tell. She had watched the young girl long enough to have a tender feeling of protection toward her.
    This third day was Saturday. Margaret had had some wild ideas of trying to saddle the horse and go out into the strange, unknown country to seek knowledge of her brother; but her good sense told her that this would be useless. She must wait a little longer. Some news would surely come soon. Resolutely she sat down to study the Sunday-school lesson just as if nothing had happened to disturb her, and to plan out everything for the morrow, trying to think that her brother would surely return for Sunday; but her heart sank low in trouble as the night came on once more, and she left her supper, which Marna had carefully prepared, untasted on the table while she stood by the dark window looking down the road.
    Philip's anger had carried him far toward his destination. When at last it cooled with his bodily fatigue, and he began to reflect on the possibilities of what might happen during his absence, he would have been minded to turn back, but that his horse was weary and the day was far spent. Besides, it would be foolish to go ba ck now when he had almost accom plished that for which he came. A few minutes with the man he sought would be all he needed, and perhaps he could exchange horses, or give his own a few hours' rest and then return. He hurried on, annoyed that it was growing so late.
    There was some difficulty in finding the place, after all, for several old landmarks had been removed by a fire, and it was quite dark before he reached the lonely ranch of the man with whom he had business.
    He had not known his own strong desire to return until he discovered how he was to be hindered . He found that the man whom he sought had gone to another ranch a few miles further on, and would probably not return for three or four days. It would be ridiculous to turn back and have his long journey for noth ing. He must press on now and accomplish what he had come for. He got a fresh horse, and, taking only a hasty supper, spurred his horse forward through the darkness, trusting recklessly t o his own knowledge of the coun try to bring him to the desired point.
    Of course he lost his way, and brought up at the place the next morning when the sun was two hours high, only to find that the man whom he had come in search of had started back the afternoon before, and must be at home by this time.
    Another delay, and another fresh horse, and he was on his way back, too weary to realize how long a strain he had been under . And , when he reached the first ranch and found his man, he was so worn out that he dared not start home without a few hours' sleep. So , the business disposed of, he lay down to sleep, his mind tormented the while by thoughts of Stephen and his own discarded trust.
    But worn nature will take her revenge, and Philip did not awake until almost sunset on the second day. Then his senses came back sharply with a vision of Margaret, a dream perhaps, or only his first waking fancies. She seemed to be crying out in distress and calling: "My brother! Stephen! O, save him, Philip!" And with the sound of that dream voice there came a great desire in his heart to hear her speak his name that way.
    But he put this from him. He tried to remember that he had been angry with her, and that this whole thing was her fault anyway for not following his advice, and then he remembered that she had no knowledge or reason to follow his advice—a stranger. What did she know of him and his reason s for what he had said? In some way she must be told , but how could he tell her?
    All these thoughts were rushing through his mind as he went out and was hunting up his own horse, hastily preparing to go home. He would not have stopped for something to eat even, had his host not insisted. Then it was only because the reasonableness of this act appealed to him that he finally yielded