Her troubled speculations were reduced now almost to wondering when de Spain would leave, and, disinclined though she felt to further parley, she believed he would go the sooner if she were to consent to see him again. Everything he had said to her seemed to unsettle her mind and to imperil impressions concerning him that she felt it dangerous, or at least treasonable, to part with. To believe anything but the worst of a man whom she heard cursed and abused continually by her uncles, cousins, and their associates and retainers, seemed a monstrous thing--and every effort de Spain made to dislodge her prejudices called for fresh distrust on her part. What had most shaken her convictions--and it would come back to her in spite of everything she could do to keep it out of her mind--was the recollection of the murder of his father, the tragic death of his mother. As for the facts of his story, somehow she never thought of questioning them. The seal of its dreadful truth he carried on his face. That day Nan washed her hair. On the second day--because there were no good reasons for it--she found herself deciding conscientiously to see de Spain for the last time, and toward sunset. This was about the time he had suggested, but it really seemed, after long thought, the best time. She began dressing early for her trip, and with constantly recurring dissatisfaction with her wardrobe--picking the best of her limited stock of silk stockings, choosing the freshest of her few pairs of tan boots. All of her riding-skirts looked shabby as she fretfully inspected them; but Bonita pressed out the newest one for the hurried occasion, while Nan used the interval, with more than usual care, on her troublesome hair--never less tractable, it seemed, in her life. Nothing, in truth, in her appearance, satisfied her, and she was obliged at last to turn from her glass with the hateful sigh that it made no difference anyway. De Spain was sitting with his back against a rock, and his knees drawn up, leaning his head on his right hand and resting his elbow on the knee. His left arm hung down over his left knee, and the look on his face was one of reflection and irresolution rather than of action and decision. But he looked so restored after his brief period of nourishment that Nan, when she stepped up on the ledge at sunset, would not have known the wreck she had seen in the same place the week before. His heart jumped at the sight of her young face, and her clear, courageous eyes surveyed him questioningly as he scrambled to his feet. "I am going to tramp out of here to-morrow night," he confided to her after his thanks. "It is Saturday; a lot of your men will be in Sleepy Cat--and they won't all be very keen-sighted on their way back. I can get a good start outside before daylight." She heard him with relief. "What will you do then?" she asked.