The hot weather had come suddenly, at least a month earlier than usual, and New York lay baking under a scorching sun when Miss Hetty Torrance sat in the coolest corner of the Grand Central Depot she could find. It was by her own wish she had spent the afternoon in the city unattended, for Miss Torrance was a self-reliant young woman; but it was fate and the irregularity of the little gold watch, which had been her dead mother's gift, that brought her to the depot at least a quarter of an hour too soon. But she was not wholly sorry, for she had desired more solitude and time for reflection than she found in the noisy city, where a visit to an eminent modiste had occupied most of her leisure. There was, she had reasons for surmising, a decision of some moment to be made that night, and as yet she was no nearer arriving at it than she had been when the little note then in her pocket had been handed her. Still, it was not the note she took out when she found a seat apart from the hurrying crowd, but a letter from her father, Torrance, the Cattle-Baron, of Cedar Range. It was terse and to the point, as usual, and a little smile crept into the girl's face as she read. "Your letter to hand, and so long as you have a good time don't worry about the bills. You'll find another five hundred dollars at the bank when you want them. Thank God, I can give my daughter what her mother should have had. Two years since I've seen my little girl, and now it seems that somebody else is wanting her! Well, we were made men and women, and if you had been meant to live alone dabbling in music you wouldn't have been given your mother's face. Now, I don't often express myself this way, but I've had a letter from Captain Jackson Cheyne, U. S. Cavalry, which reads as straight as I've found the man to be. Nothing wrong with that family, and they've dollars to spare; but if you like the man I can put down two for every one of his. Well, I might write a good deal, but you're too much like your father to be taken in. You want dollars and station, and I can see you get them, but in a contract of this kind the man is everything. Make quite sure you're getting the right one." There was a little more to the same purpose, and when she slipped the letter into her pocket Hetty Torrance smiled. "The dear old man!" she said. "It is very like him; but whether Jake is the right one or not is just what I can't decide."