Many things can happen when one is the manager." Barry made no answer.

For another mile they drove in silence, at last to come into the clearing of Barry's mill, with its bunk house, its cook house, its diminutive commissary, its mill and kilns and sheds.
Houston leaped from the wagon to start a census and to begin his preparations for a cleaning-out of the whole establishment.

But at the door of the commissary he whirled, staring.

A buggy was just coming over the brow of the little hill which led to the mill property.

Some one had called to him,---a woman whose voice had caused him to start, then, a second later, to go running forward.
She was beside Thayer in the buggy, leaning forth, one hand extended as Barry hurried toward her, her black eyes flashing eagerness, her full, yet cold lips parted, her olive-skinned cheeks enlivened by a flush of excitement as Houston came to her, forgetful of the sneer of the man at her side, forgetful of the staring Ba'tiste in the background, forgetful of his masquerade, of everything.
"Agnes!" he gasped.