Crowley was patrolling the porch; she issued from a side door of the tavern, but she was obliged to pass him in order to get into the street. His high sign to her was peremptory and unmistakable--Mr. Crowley had business with her! Right then, in spite of her planned intent to bluff out the situation just as long as she could at that distance from Mern, she was not in a state of mind to meet Crowley. She heard steps behind her and was accosted, but her frown of apprehensiveness became a smile of welcome when she turned and beheld Latisan; the welcome was not so much from interest in Latisan as from the sense that she would have a respite from Crowley. "If you're going to look the place over, won't you allow me to go along?" he pleaded. "I'll follow behind like a terrier, if you tell me to. I want to keep you from being bothered by anybody." She showed concern and looked about her. "Oh, by that cheap drummer, I mean. You needn't ever be afraid of woodsmen up here. I was watching him when you came out. If it wasn't for starting a lot of tattle I'd beat him up on the street." "Really, you'd better come along with me, Mr. Latisan, out of the reach of any such temptation." "Perhaps you'd like to get a view of the falls from the best point," he suggested, as they walked on. When they turned into a path and disappeared from Crowley's ken the latter buttoned his coat and started leisurely on their trail. On the edge of the gorge there was a niche in the cliff, a natural seat padded with moss. Latisan led her to the spot. He did not indulge his longing to sit beside her; he stood at a little distance, respectfully, and allowed her to think her thoughts. Those thoughts and her memories were very busy just then; she was glad because the everlasting diapason of the falls made conversation difficult. Until then, in her reflections, she had been considering Ward Latisan merely as her stricken grandfather's staff of hope, an aid so essential that the Comas had determined to eliminate him. She surveyed him as he stood there in his own and fitting milieu and found him reassuringly stalwart as a dependable champion. Alone with him, making estimate with her eyes and her understanding, she was conscious that her first surprise at sight of the real Latisan was giving way to deepening interest. She reflected again on the character which had been given this man by Rufus Craig, and remembered more vividly what she had written about him for the guidance of the Vose-Mern agency. There must be something wrong in Craig's estimate! She felt that she had an eye of her own for qualities in a man, and this man's clean sincerity had impressed her in their first meeting in the New York cafeteria.