Slipping a little wrapper over her gown, but in her bare feet, the girl noiselessly left the room and followed the sound she had heard. These led her to a small apartment which her father had used as an office and where stood the desk in whose secret drawer she had expected to find the title deed. A small fireproof safe was in this office. It was an old-fashioned affair, with a simple, but heavy key, which the Sobrante children had played with in their infancy. She remembered her father remarking, with a laugh, that a safe was the most useless thing he possessed, for he never had anything worth putting in it; but it had been a belonging of old "Forty-niner" Marsh, a gift to his employer, and therefore accorded a place of honor. Before this safe now bent a man whom Jessica recognized with surprise and relief. "Why, Mr. Marsh! Is it you? What in the world are you doing here at this hour? Are you ill? Do you want something?" "No, dearie. I'm not ill; and I'm not robbing you. And I've got all I want. That's one more look at your bonny face, God bless it!" It was close to his shoulder now, that face he loved, and he kissed it tenderly; though with equal tenderness, if less emotion, the little maid returned his caress and clasped his neck with those strong, young arms that so yearned to protect and comfort everybody. "That's funny. Should think you'd be tired of it, sometimes, I disappoint you so. But never mind. I'm getting handier with my new rifle every day, I think, and I mean to do yet what Samson claims I should--just beat the world. Have you finished looking at your things?" For it was Mr. Marsh himself who had always used the safe, even after giving it away. "Can't I get you something to eat, so you can sleep better?" "No, dearie, no, just one more good kiss--to remember. Good-by. Good-by. It--it might have been done kinder, maybe, but--her heart is sad, I know, and her first thought is for you. She must save for you. Here, Lady, take the key. Some time you--you might want to look in that safe for yourself. Good-night." Jessica went with him to the outer door, wondering much at this oddly-timed visit. Yet the ranchman walked erect, still carrying his lighted candle quite openly, as one who had done nothing of which to be ashamed; and when he had departed the girl returned to her own bed still more wakeful because of this queer incident. Ten minutes later, it may have been, she heard the limping footfall of a slowly-moving horse, the echoes growing fainter continually. Again she sat up and listened. "That's Mr. Marsh's 'Stiffleg!' What should send him off riding now? Oh! I do wish mother was awake, things seem so queer. Yet I don't really wish it. She has so many wakeful nights and just this one is more than I want. Now, Jessica Trent, don't be foolish any longer. Go straight to sleep or you'll be late in the morning."