CHAPTER XX.
THE IRONY OF CHANCE The snow, which had begun as an insignificant flurry in the morning, developed into a storm by afternoon.
Four miles from town, in a dreary stretch of country, a dejected-looking object tramped along the railroad-track.

His hat was pulled over his eyes and his hands were thrust in his pockets.

Now and again he stopped, listened, and looked at his watch.
It was Sandy Kilday, and he was waiting for the freight-train with the fixed intention of committing suicide.
The complications arising from Jimmy Reed's indiscretion had resulted disastrously.

When Sandy found that Ruth had read his letter, his common sense took flight.

Instead of a supplicant, he became an invader, and stormed the citadel with such hot-headed passion and fervor that Ruth fled in affright to the innermost chamber of her maidenhood, and there, barred and barricaded, withstood the siege.
His one desire in life now was to quit it.