It was with a feeling of awe that Bart went into the dainty little room. There were rosebuds on the creamy wall-paper, and the ceiling, slanting down on one side, was pale, pale blue, spangled with silver stars; the windows were closed, and thin, soft curtains fell in straight folds over them; the rag carpet was woven in pink-and-cream stripes; there was a dressing-table prettily draped in pink. For a moment the man’s love was stronger than his anxiety; the prayer came back to his eyes as he looked at the narrow, snowy bed. Then he went to the dressing-table and saw a folded slip of paper with his name upon it. * * * * * After a while he became conscious that he had read the letter a dozen times, and still had not grasped its meaning. He stooped closer to the candle and read it again, his lips moving mechanically: “DEAR BART:—I’m goin’ away. I’m goin’ with him. I told you what wa’n’t so this mornin’. I do like him the best. I couldn’t have you after knowin’ him. I feel awful bad to treat you this a-way, but I haf to. “LAVINY.” “P. S.—I want that you sh’u’d marry somebody else as soon as you can, an’ be happy.” A querulous call came from the hall below. He took the candle in one hand and the letter in the other and went down, stumbling clumsily on the stairs. A great many noises seemed to be ringing in his head, and the sober paper with which the walls of the hall were covered to have suddenly taken on great scarlet spots. He felt helpless and uncertain in his movements, as if he had no will to guide him. He must have carried the candle very crookedly, for Mrs. Vaiden, who was watching him from below, cried out, petulantly: “There, you _are_ spillin’ the sperm! Just look at you!” But she stopped abruptly when she saw his face. “Why, whatever on this earth!” she exclaimed, solemnly. “What you got there? A letter?” “Yes.” He set the candle on the table and held the letter toward her. “It’s from Laviny.” “From Laviny! Why, what on earth did she write to you about?” He burst into wild, terrible laughter. “She wants I sh’u’d marry somebody else as soon as I can, an’ be happy.” These words, at least, seemed to have written themselves on his brain. He groped about blindly for his hat, and went out into the shrill, whistling night. The last torch had burnt itself out, and everything was black save the electric lights, winking in the wind, and one strip of whitening sky above Mount Baker, where presently the moon would rise, silver and cool. * * * * *