"Yes, we expected that, and can supply you. We've a flat car load along. We'll haul you back to the siding and get the coal on there. It's the only way." The coupling was made, the slow retreat of the rescuing train to the siding, taking over an hour, accomplished, as was the transfer of coal and water, with great difficulty and much work of trainmen, and, at last, the train from San Francisco was itself again. It moved forward, its passengers cheering the train on the side track which was also pulling out, but toward the West. The episode was over. Upon the rear platform of the last car as the train drew eastward stood, all alone, the big blonde porter. The train was whirling toward Denver. There was a great reunion after supper, presided over by Colonel Livingston, of course, to celebrate, as the Young Lady expressed it, their providential escape from the largest island of Juan Fernandez in the world, but the Far Away Lady was not present. Stafford wondered, and was restless and disappointed. As time wore on, he could not endure it very well, and, withdrawing quietly, went forward to her car, adjoining. What he saw as he entered--and the sight gladdened him, for he feared that she had retired--was the lady sitting alone by the window, still, and apparently dreaming. He advanced and seated himself beside her. She looked at him and smiled, but said nothing. "Why are you not in the Cassowary with all the rest?" he asked. "They are rejoicing." She made no answer to his question: "I hope you are happy, John," she said gently. "I heard of your marriage to the American girl at the legation in St. Petersburg, and I prayed that"--but she never finished the sentence. "Wh-a-t!" gasped Stafford, "Married! I--What the--"--and he almost forgot himself, this man fresh from handling coolies--then more gently and most sadly: "Agnes, you should have known better! Oh, you should have known better! There was a Stafford married there, it is true, a relation of mine, a cousin. It was through him I made my Russian connection--but, Agnes, how could you! Did you think there was room in my heart for another woman, and so soon? But women are strange creatures," he concluded bitterly. She could not answer him at first, though the light which came into her face should have represented courage; she could but murmur brokenly: "Forgive me. You must do that--but, oh, John, what could I think? It all seemed so assured. And I was half insane, and doubting all the world. And now, now you have made me very happy. I cannot tell you"--and she failed, weakly, for words. Every thought and impulse of the man changed on the moment. A great wave of tenderness swept over him: "Forgive you? Of course I do," he said impetuously, "I can understand. Poor girl, you must have suffered. Who wouldn't at the unveiling of such a man?" Then came the more regardful thought: [Illustration: "WE SHALL MEET AT BREAKFAST"] "But how is it with you, Agnes? Is life as black as ever?"