The more she dwelt upon this neglect the more significant it became. After the tender look in his eyes, after the ardent clasp of his hand, the thought that he could be so indifferent was at once a source of pain and self-reproach. With childish frankness she went to Lize and told her what she had learned, her eyes dim with hot tears. "Ross came to town, and went away back to his cabin without coming to see me." "Are you sure he's been here?" "Yes. Mr. Sifton saw him go. He came in, got some letters at the post-office, and then rode away--" Her voice broke as her disappointment and grief overcame her. Lize struggled to a sitting position. "There's some mistake about this. Ross Cavanagh never was the whifflin' kind of man. You've got to remember he's on duty. Probably the letter was some order that carried him right back to his work." "But if he had really cared, he could have ridden by to say just a word; but he didn't, he went away without a sign, after promising to come." She buried her face in the coverlet of her mother's bed, and wept in childish grief and despair. Lize was forced to acknowledge that the ranger's action was inexplicable, but she did her best to make light of it. "He may have hurried to town on some errand, and hadn't a moment to spare. These are exciting days for him, remember. He'll be in to-morrow sure." With a faint hope of this, the girl rose and went about her daily tasks; but the day passed, and another, without word or sign of the recreant lover, and each day brought a deeper sense of loss, but her pride would not permit her to show her grief. Young Gregg, without knowing in the least the cause of her troubled face, took this occasion to offer comfort. His manner toward her had changed since she no longer had a part in the management of the eating-house, and for that reason she did not repulse him as sharply as she had been wont to do. He really bore Cavanagh no ill-will, and was, indeed, shrewd enough to understand that Lee admired the ranger, and that his own courtship was rather hopeless; nevertheless, he persisted, his respect for her growing as he found her steadfast in her refusal to permit any familiarity. "See here, Miss Virginia," he cried, as she was passing him in the hall, "I can see you're worried about Lize (I mean your mother), and if I can be of any use I hope you'll call on me." As she thanked him without enthusiasm, he added: "How is she to-night?" "I think she's better." "Can I see her?" His tone was so earnest that the girl was moved to say: "I'll ask her." "I wish you would; I want to say something to her." Lize's voice reached where they stood. "Come in, Joe, the door's open." He accepted her invitation rather awkwardly, but his face was impassive as he looked down upon her. "Well, how about it?" she asked. "What's doing in the town?" "Not much of anything--except talk. The whole country is buzzing over this dismissal of the Chief Forester."