The others, personally-conducted by Mr. Colbrith, were crowding to the rear platform for an after-breakfast view of the headquarters camp. Ford and Alicia followed, but without haste. "You have chanced upon the word, Miss Adair," Ford was saying. "I decided last night that I should resign." "No," she objected. "Yes; I must. Sometime I may tell you why." "I say you must not. That was the last word in brother's letter; and he wished me to repeat it to you," she insisted. "Where is your brother?" he asked. "He was in London when he wrote." "He has thrown up his hand." Ford was pessimistic again. Miss Adair looked about her despairingly for some means of prolonging the whispered confidence. Penfield, deferentially in the rear of the platform group, was never safely out of earshot. "I want to see the engine that so nearly plunged us into a collision last night," she said aloud; and Penfield's visible ear betrayed the listening mind. Ford took his cue promptly. "We can go out the other way," he said; and the secretary _pro tempore_ had no excuse for following. They found the cab of the 1012 deserted, with the steam in the huge boiler singing softly at the behest of the banked fire. Miss Adair lost her curiosity as soon as Ford had lifted her to the foot-plate. "Now you are to tell me all about it--quickly," she commanded. "Uncle Sidney will be calling for you as soon as he misses you. Why are you so foolish as to talk about resigning? Don't you see what they will say then?--that you were afraid?" Ford was leaning against the centered reversing-lever, and his face was gloomy again. "Possibly I am afraid," he suggested. "You should be more afraid of dishonor than of--of the other things. Do you suppose Mr. North will be content with your resignation now?" Ford looked up quickly. Here was a new revelation--an unsuspected facet of the precious gem. He could hardly believe that this steady-voiced, far-seeing young woman was the insouciant, school-girlish--though none the less lovable--young person with whom he had tramped to the wind-swept summit of Plug Pass in the golden heart of the yesterday. "You mean--?" he began. "I mean that you will be discredited; disgraced if possible. Are you sure you haven't been doing anything over here that you wouldn't want Uncle Sidney to find out?" "Not consciously, you may be sure," he asserted unhesitatingly. "Think; think hard," she urged. "Is there nothing at all?" He could not help smiling lovingly at her scarce-concealed anxiety--though it was merely the anxiety of a noble soul unwilling to stand by and see injustice done. "My methods never get very far underground," he averred. "Not far enough for my own safety, Frisbie says. If I had been keeping a diary, I think I should be quite willing to let Mr. Colbrith read it--or print it, if he cared to."