It must be set down to Loring’s credit that none of these meetings were of his planning, for as his love for her deepened, as it did day by day, he felt more and more keenly the barriers which he himself had raised between them. He felt how far wrong he had been in assuming that his life had been wholly his own and that his failures could touch no one but himself. He did not dare to construct the future, but clung to the present with realization of its blessings. He felt a glow of pride in Jean’s friendship for him, and a steady reliance on her faith in him. Week after week went by and the fiber within him strengthened. The belief in the worthwhileness of life came to him with a splendid rush of conviction that was not to be denied. The depth of happiness is, unfortunately, however, no criterion of its duration. One evening the stage, after depositing at the office its load of mail and newcomers, lurched jerkily up the incline that led to Mr. Cameron’s house, instead of being driven to the corral as usual. Loring watched it and his spirits dropped like a barometer. An incident may easily depress high spirits, though it takes an event to raise low ones. The event which had raised his spirits to-day was a meeting with Jean Cameron while Mr. Cameron was inspecting Number Three shaft. Jean had accompanied her father to the hoist and Loring had been able to talk with her for a longer time than usual. The incident that had depressed was merely a slight break in the routine. He did not usually notice the stage. Why should he do so now? What was more natural than that Mr. Cameron should have some visitor? “Probably one of the directors of the company, or some official,” Stephen reflected. “Perhaps that was why that new saddle was sent down to the corral.”