"I'll be out in a minute," she said; and left him seating himself uneasily, his perplexity plainly showing in his face. Marion opened the door, and faltered on the threshold. Seth was there with Claire; and she must face them both. "Mr. Smythe wants me to go for a ride with him," she said, advancing smilingly. "We can start to-morrow on the shooting trip, can't we, Cousin Seth?" She had not often called him "Cousin Seth" of late; and he was delighted. "Well," he said reflectively, "I'd rather planned starting to-day, but if to-morrow suits you better it's all right, Marion. Go along with your young man!" Claire was studying her anxiously, and Marion hastened to disarm her. "Thank you, Seth!" she said. "You see, I'm not feeling quite myself this morning--such a night I had! A short ride will be about all I'm good for. I'll feel better to-morrow." "Well, then, dear," said Claire, "you'll not be gone long, will you?" "Don't worry!" was the evasive reply. "Mr. Smythe will take good care of me." On that she kissed Claire, nodded brightly to Huntington, and hurried away. Almost running in her eagerness, she led the way to the stable, where two horses stood saddled, with rifles in leather cases hanging from the saddlebows, and bundles strapped behind. Smythe started to remove the gun from Tuesday's saddle. "No, leave it there!" commanded Marion. "Certainly. But why?" asked Smythe. "I don't know," she replied. "It just occurred to me." "But the bundle? You won't need that." "No. But yes--leave it! It's not very big." Smythe looked at her keenly, and with a vague suspicion; but there was no confusion in her face or manner. She was, in fact, not thinking of the bundle or the gun; or if she thought of them--Such rigid instruments as words, worn blunt with usage and misuse, are quite inadequate to describe the faint and fugitive character of that thought,--the idea still in its inception, inchoate, embryo. She was going to Murray's for news of Philip Haig; and all beyond that purpose was--beyond. Smythe was not satisfied, but he could say no more; for Marion was already mounting Tuesday, and he could only follow. At the edge of the little wood below the ranch house Marion turned in the saddle, and saw Claire standing in the doorway. She waved her hand, and Claire waved hers in response; and then the trees came between them, as they had done a hundred times that summer. But now a lump rose in Marion's throat. Dear Claire! She had been so good to her!