With the letters unopened in his lap he sat in silent thought, profoundly troubled by the instant decision which this message demanded of him. At first glance nothing was simpler than to pack up and go. He was only a tourist in the valley with no intention of staying; but there was Berea! To go meant a violent end of their pleasant romance. To think of flight saddened him, and yet his better judgment was clearly on the side of going. "Much as I like her, much as I admire her, I cannot marry her. The simplest way is to frankly tell her so and go. It seems cowardly, but in the end she will be happier." His letters carried him back into his own world. One was from Will Halliday, who was going with Professor Holsman on an exploring trip up the Nile. "You must join us. Holsman has promised to take you on." Another classmate wrote to know if he did not want to go into a land deal on the Gulf of Mexico. A girl asked: "Are you to be in New York this winter? I am. I've decided to go into this Suffrage Movement." And so, one by one, the threads which bound him to Eastern city life re-spun their filaments. After all, this Colorado outing, even though it should last two years, would only be a vacation--his real life was in the cities of the East. Charming as Berea was, potent as she seemed, she was after all a fixed part of the mountain land, and not to be taken from it. At the moment marriage with her appeared absurd. A knock at his door and the Supervisor's voice gave him a keen shock. "Come in," he called, springing to his feet with a thrill of dread, of alarm. McFarlane entered slowly and shut the door behind him. His manner was serious, and his voice gravely gentle as he said: "I hope that telegram does not call you away?" "It is from my father, asking me to meet him in Denver," answered Norcross, with faltering breath. "He's on his way to California. Won't you sit down?" The older man took a seat with quiet dignity. "Seems like a mighty fine chance, don't it? I've always wanted to see the Coast. When do you plan for to pull out?" Wayland was not deceived by the Supervisor's casual tone; there was something ominously calm in his manner, something which expressed an almost dangerous interest in the subject. "I haven't decided to go at all. I'm still dazed by the suddenness of it. I didn't know my father was planning this trip." "I see. Well, before you decide to go I'd like to have a little talk with you. My daughter has told me part of what happened to you on the trail. I want to know _all_ of it. You're young, but you've been out in the world, and you know what people can say about you and my girl." His voice became level and menacing, as he added: "And I don't intend to have her put in wrong on account of you." Norcross was quick to reply. "Nobody will dare accuse her of wrongdoing. She's a noble girl. No one will dare to criticize her for what she could not prevent."