"I'm like you," he said; "I can't brook disappointment. I'm going on." In answer to her questioning look he explained his plan of intercepting the freight-steamer that night, whereupon her face brightened with sudden hope. "Can't I go, too?" she implored, eagerly. She was no longer the haughty young lady he had met upon entering the room, but a very wistful child. "I'm afraid that's hardly---" "Oh! If only you knew how much it means! If only you knew how badly I want to! I'm not afraid of discomforts." "It's not that---" "Please! Please! Be a real prince and grant me this boon. Won't you? My heart is set upon it." It was hard to resist her imploring eyes--eyes which showed they had never been denied. It was hard for O'Neil to refuse anything to a woman. "If your uncle is willing," he began, hesitatingly. "He isn't my really uncle--I just call him that." "Well, if Mr. Gordon wouldn't object, perhaps I can manage it, provided, of course, you promise to explain to your mother." Miss Gerard's frank delight showed that she was indeed no more than a child. Her changed demeanor awakened a doubt in the man's mind. "It will mean that you'll have to sit up all night in an open launch," he cautioned her. "I'll sit up for a week." "With the creepy water all about, and big black mountains frowning at you!" "Oh, fiddle!" she exclaimed. "You'll be there if I get frightened." Rising impulsively she laid her hand on his arm and thanked him with an odd mingling of frankness and shyness, as if there could be no further doubt of his acquiescence. He saw that her eyes were the color of shaded woodland springs and that her hair was not black, but of a deep, rich brown where the sun played upon it, the hue of very old mahogany, with the same blood-red flame running through it. He allowed himself to admire her in silence, until suddenly she drew back with a startled exclamation. "What is it?" "I forgot--I have no clothes." Her words came with a doleful cadence. "The universal complaint of your sex," he said, smiling. "Allow me to talk with your hostess. I'm sure she will let you walk out with your borrowed finery, just like Cinderella. You'll need a nice thick coat, too." "But this is her very, very best dress." "She shall receive, on the next ship, a big box all lined with tissue-paper, with the imprint of the most fashionable dressmaker in Seattle. I'll arrange all that by cable." "You don't know how she loves it," the girl said, doubtfully. "Come! Call her in. If I'm to be a prince you mustn't doubt my power." Nor did the event prove him over-confident. Before he had fairly made known his request the good lady of the house was ready to surrender not only her best Sunday gown, but her fluttering heart as well. Murray O'Neil had a way of making people do what he wanted, and women invariably yielded to him. IV HOW A JOURNEY ENDED AT HOPE