I had been so enraged over Lord Ralles that I hadn't stopped to reckon in what position I stood myself towards Miss Cullen, but I didn't have to do much thinking to know that I had behaved about as badly as was possible for me. And the worst of it was that she could not know that right through the whole I had never quite been able to think badly of her. I went out on the platform of the station, and was lucky enough to find her there alone. "Miss Cullen," I said, "I've been ungentlemanly and suspicious, and I'm about as ashamed of myself as a man can be and not jump into the Grand Cañon. I've not come to you to ask your forgiveness, for I can't forgive myself, much less expect it of you. But I want you to know how I feel, and if there's any reparation, apology, anything, that you'd like, I'll--" Madge interrupted my speech there by holding out her hand. "You don't suppose," she said, "that, after all you have done for us, I could be angry over what was merely a mistake?" That's what I call a trump of a girl, worth loving for a lifetime. Well, we coupled on to No. 2 that morning and started East, this time Mr. Cullen's car being the "ender." All on 218 were wildly jubilant, as was natural, but I kept growing bluer and bluer. I took a farewell dinner on their car the night we were due in Albuquerque, and afterwards Miss Cullen and I went out and sat on the back platform. "I've had enough adventures to talk about for a year," Madge said, as we chatted the whole thing over, "and you can no longer brag that the K. & A. has never had a robbery, even if you didn't lose anything." "I have lost something," I sighed sadly. Madge looked at me quickly, started to speak, hesitated, and then said, "Oh, Mr. Gordon, if you only could know how badly I have felt about that, and how I appreciate the sacrifice." I had only meant that I had lost my heart, and, for that matter, probably my head, for it would have been ungenerous even to hint to Miss Cullen that I had made any sacrifice of conscience for her sake, and I would as soon have asked her to pay for it in money as have told her. "You mustn't think--" I began. "I have felt," she continued, "that your wish to serve us made you do something you never would have otherwise done, for--Well, you--any one can see how truthful and honest--and it has made me feel so badly that we--Oh, Mr. Gordon, no one has a right to do wrong in this world, for it brings such sadness and danger to innocent--And you have been so generous--" I couldn't let this go on. "What I did," I told her, "was to fight fire with fire, and no one is responsible for it but myself." "I should like to think that, but I can't," she said. "I know we all tried to do something dishonest, and while you didn't do any real wrong, yet I don't think you would have acted as you did except for our sake. And I'm afraid you may some day regret--"