He was deep in his work when a shadow fell upon his desk and he looked up to see--Virginia. CHAPTER XXV VIRGINIA REPENTS "I came for my stock," said Virginia coolly as she met his questioning eye and Wiley turned and rummaged in a drawer. The stock was hers and since she came and asked for it--he laid it on the desk and went ahead with his work. Virginia took the envelope and examined it carefully, but she did not go away. She glanced at him curiously, writing away so grimly, and there was a scar across his head. Could it be--yes, there her rock had struck him. The mark was still fresh, but he had given her the stock; and now he was privileged to hate her. That wound on his head would soon be overgrown and covered, but she had left a deeper scar on his heart. She had hurt his man's pride; and now he had hurt hers, and humbled her to ask for her stock. He looked up suddenly, feeling her eyes upon him, and Virginia drew back and blushed. "Oh--thank you," she stammered and turned to go, and yet she lingered to see what he would say. "You're welcome," he answered evenly, and took a fresh sheet of paper, but she refused to notice the hint. A sense of pique, of wonder at his politeness and half-resentment at his obliviousness of her presence, drew her back and she leaned against his desk. "What are you writing?" she asked as he glanced at her inquiringly. "Is it a letter to that squaw?" A sudden twitch of passion passed over his face at this reference to a dark page in their past and he drew the written sheet away. "No," he said, "I happened to remember a white girl----" "What?" burst out Virginia before she could check herself and he curled his lip up scornfully. "Yes," he nodded, "and she seems to think I'm all right." "Oh," she said and turned away her head with a painful twisted smile. Somehow she had always thought--and yet he must have met other girls--he was meeting them all the time! She tried to summon her anger, to carry her past this fresh stab, but the tears rose to her eyes instead. "I--we'll be going away soon," she went on hurriedly. "That is, if he gives us back our stock. Do you think he'll do it, Wiley? You know--the plan you spoke of. We're going to sell this stock to a broker and then pay Mr. Blount back." "I don't know," mumbled Wiley, and humped up over his letter, but it did not produce the effect he had hoped for. "Well--I'm sorry I hurt you," she broke out impulsively, rebuked by the long gash in his hair, "but you shouldn't have tried to stop me! I wasn't doing you any harm--I just came up there that night to see what was going on. And I did see Stiff Neck George, you can smile all you want to, and he had something heavy in his hand." She ran on with her explanation, only to trail off inconclusively as she saw his face growing grim. He did not believe her, he did not even listen; he just sat there patiently and waited.