"Ah, was that it? I suppose I nearly fainted. Some nerve in my brain seemed to snap. Perhaps that is why I am talking at random now." Not all Dacre's tact could stop the imminent recital of events since their last meeting. Yet, curiously enough, Power seemed to grow calmer, more even-minded, as he told of his idyl and its dramatic close. By the time they had reached the house again he had recast his views as to Nancy's desertion of him. During some few days thereafter Fate ceased her outrageous attacks, and he was vouchsafed a measure of peace. The next blow came from an unexpected hand. Mrs. Moore and her daughters were about to leave Bison for their home in San Francisco. All preparations were made, and their baggage was piled on the veranda ready for transport to the station, when the good lady who had proved such a stanch friend in an emergency called Power into the library. He noticed that she was carrying a small package, wrapped in a piece of linen, and tied with white ribbon. "Derry," she said, "I have one sad duty to perform before I go." He winced slightly. He was beginning to hate that word "duty." The very sound of it was ominous, full of foreboding. "It is nothing to cause you any real sorrow," she went on, thinking he had misinterpreted her words. "Just before your dear mother's death she gave me to understand that I was to take charge of a bundle of letters which she kept under her pillow. They were meant for you, I suppose; but unfortunately I could not make out her wishes. Anyhow, here they are. You are the one person in the world who can decide whether or not they should be destroyed. I put them in a locked box, and would have given them to you sooner, but----" She hesitated, seemingly at a loss for a word. "But I was acting like a lunatic, and you were afraid of the consequences," he said, with a pleasant smile. "Well, I have never seen any man so hard hit," she admitted. "Mr. Dacre's arrival was a perfect Godsend, for you and all of us; so I thought it best to keep these letters longer than I had planned at first, though I am sure there is nothing in them to cause you any distress. Indeed, I have an idea that they are mostly your own correspondence, sent from New York and elsewhere, because I saw your handwriting on an envelop, and a postmark. You are not vexed with me for retaining them until today?" Power reassured her on that point. He placed the packet, just as it was, in a drawer of a writing-desk, and did not open it until he had returned from the station after escorting the women to their train.