Brown returned to his cabin feeling that he had permanently eliminated the fascinating Mr. Bunny, and evidences of a certain austere pleasure radiated from his damaged features. But though the hour arrived when Johnny Severance should have come striding down the path from the Red Bird, head thrown back and shoulders squared as he swung his cap and dinner pail, it brought no Johnny; and Brown, disturbed and wondering, set out alone for the straggle of buildings on the bench. He found two anxious-faced women at the Mountain House; the eyes of each were red from much weeping, and he surmised that there had been a crisis—that his well-intentioned interference had been too long delayed—and he suffered a moment of intense humiliation. He had figured creditably in more than one strenuous human drama, but never before had he to reproach himself with being dilatory. It gave him a unique sensation. Supper was eaten in dreary silence. At first Miss Mollie had attempted to talk to her guest, but her voice was forced and unnatural and now and again trailed off into what sounded very like a sob, while Mollie's big blue eyes were misted lakes of sorrow. In the presence of their grief Brown was stricken into speechless shyness. He felt that the feminine soul was a curious and an awesome thing; he stood close to it with trepidation. But he did not lack a certain deep integrity,—he would see this thing through to a finish. After supper he hung around the office, where presently Miss Mollie joined him. He sensed it that his hostess was only anxious to have him go, yet he lingered, perturbed and ill at ease. At last he cleared his throat. “I don't see nothing of Mr. Severance,” he remarked with diffidence, as one who had encroached on a forbidden subject. The tears swiftly gathered in Miss Mollie's soft brown eyes. “I'm afraid he's gone,” she said. There was a pause. Brown followed a crack in the floor from the desk to the wall opposite and back again with his embarrassed glance. “Anything happened?” he at length asked, and the very bluntness of his query threw him into a state of intense and painful confusion, but he gripped himself hard and went on. “She”—he jerked his thumb in the direction of the diningroom where Mollie could be heard clearing away the supper dishes—“she's feeling pretty bad,” he hazarded, and once more was stricken dumb. “Yes, she's feeling awful bad, Mr. Brown. Johnny's gone. He sent down word—a good-by—from the Red Bird this afternoon, and said he was going.” Brown considered. “He should be fetched back,” he presently observed with conviction. “Where is Mr. Bunny?” asked Miss Mollie, and her tone betrayed anxiety. Brown flushed under his sunburn. “He's left Sunset. He went sudden.” “Did they—did he and Johnny meet?—was there trouble?” began Miss Mollie.