She hurried through her morning’s work, her father’s dinner was planned, and she was ready some time before the stage was seen in the distance a quarter of a mile away. Mr. Rayborne went with the girls to the road and waited until it drew up. Every inside seat was taken except the one reserved for Fanny. Mrs. Prescott who always looked out for herself, had appropriated a corner seat in the rear of the stage, where she could lean back against the cushion. She had a headache, as usual, and with her veil over her face she looked up enough to greet her daughter, who said, “Inez is going to Clark’s with us. There is not room for her inside, and I am going outside with her.” Immediately a young man arose and offered his seat to Inez, whose father said in a low tone, “Stick to the box.” “And I shall stick, too,” Fanny said. “The view is much finer outside, and Inez can tell me the places.” The two girls were soon seated and the driver was about to start when with a roar Nero came down the hill, jumping at the horses’ heads and then at Inez. “Here, Nero, here,” Mr. Rayborne called while Inez pleaded for him to go. “I can bring him back to-night, and he never has a chance to go anywhere,” she said, but her father was firm and the dog followed him rather reluctantly to the house and disappeared in the direction of his kennel, which Tom had built for him. “Nero is the last one to be there if anything happens. He is so affectionate and demonstrative and sure to mix in the melee that recognition would be inevitable, and I would spare Inez that, if possible,” Mr. Rayborne thought, as he sat down in his silent room, which had never seemed so lonely before. Nor had the past ever crowded upon him so thickly as it did now, filling him with remorse as real as it was bitter. Every leaf in his life was turned with its dark record from which he recoiled with horror. Away back in another world it seemed to him there were bright spots and he saw himself, looked up to and respected and happy, leading what looked to him an ideal life compared to what he was leading now. “Oh, for those days. Oh, to be young again and innocent,” he said aloud, and his voice sounded so strange that he half started from his chair and looked around to see where it came from. “I don’t like being alone,” he said. “Nero is better than no company. I’ll call him.”