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 Lilian declared she did not want a dog as handsome as Cop. I told her how fond she would get of him, and she said that was just the trouble. She knew Cop would never have loved another mistress, and she did not wish to love another dog, for the present at least. It would be too cold-blooded. Afterward she relented so far as to beg me to buy him for myself. She said she would steel her heart against him. Of course I didn't want him. What should I do with a dog? They are a great care."

"Don't you think she would have got fond of him?" I asked. For this was truly interesting. A girl who would not have another dog would be just the girl to cherish a hopeless affection. Besides which, here was more circumstantial evidence in the case. I remembered a particularly taking poem "To Cop."

Mrs. Ellerton was saying: "Why, no! She wouldn't have allowed herself to grow fond of the new dog. She said she wouldn't."


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 "Has she such a strong will?"

It began to seem as though the two Lilians might be a good deal alike.

"Yes, she has a strong will, but she says she isn't stubborn, and I don't know that she is. Only she wont drive a horse with a check-rein on. She does not approve of the overhead checks they use here. Itis rather a trial to me. I like to see a horse's head held up."

"She doesn't seem morbid, either," I ventured to remark, feeling somewhat like a detective.

"No, she doesn't seem morbid; and there she is," Mrs. Ellerton added, as the sound of a horse's hoofs caused her to look up.

I ruminated a good deal on that answer of Mrs. Ellerton's. Was it purposely evasive? Did she know about the "worm i' the bud"? If not, why did she merely echo my words, instead of frankly saying "She is not morbid."

For the moment I had only time to get to the block and help the young lady

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 dismount. She accepted my help with a delicious lightness, as though it might amuse me, and couldn't hurt her.

"I have been watching Mr. Brunt at tennis," she said, as she stroked the tiger-eye neck, which arched itself in grateful response.

"How did you like his playing?"

"Like it?" she cried, with mock solemnity. "I regarded it with fear and respect."

"He does play well, doesn't he?" I asked, for lam immensely proud of John's tennis. So different from what you would expect of a literary man.

"He plays to win!" she said, and then, laughing: "I trust I may never be called upon to play against him."

"He does serve like a streak of lightning," I admitted, "and it is not easy to surprise him."

Miss Lamb disappeared within the house, returning in a moment with a letter in her hand.

"I suppose," she said, with a slight


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 hesitation, "I suppose Miss Lamb's letters are forwarded from your office, but it seems rather a way of approaching her, when you are on the spot. Would it be asking too much of you, to forward this to her?"

"Not in the least," I said. "It shall go this very day."

"Thank you."

She handed me the letter and then stood striking her habit lightly with her riding whip.

"Is Miss Lamb at home?" she asked, with an odd look which I have since recalled. "Will she be likely to get my letter without delay?"

"She is away from home just now, but I know her address. There shall be no delay."

"I am glad of that." Then, after a slight pause: "I was wondering how soon I was likely to have an answer."

I made a grave calculation.

"I think," said I, "that you might have an answer a little sooner than usual,


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 say in six days, if she replies immediately, as she doubtless will do if the letter is important,"—this with a diplomatic inflection which might be taken as interrogatory or not.

"It is not exactly that," she said, thoughtfully. Then, looking up with a deprecating smile, and a pretty motion of her head: "Oh no! It is not in the least important. She may not answer it at all, though I hope she will. Don't you think she will?"

"I am sure of it!" I cried, with effusion. "I know how much she values your letters."

She looked at me with the same odd smile.

"How well you and Mr. Brunt know Miss Lamb!" she said. "But I must go now and dress for luncheon. Perhaps you will stay. No? Some other time, then."

"Be sure you don't forget my letter," she called, over her shoulder, as—she stood in the doorway.


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 A riding habit is extremely becoming to some women.

I do not know why it had not occurred to me that I should be asked to forward that letter, for of course nothing could be more natural. But the possibility had not entered my head, and as I walked back to the hotel with the thing in my pocket I did not feel at all easy in my mind. Somehow when the letters were coming in due course of mail, addressed to that well-known personage, Lilian Leslie Lamb, I had handed them over to John without the least compunction—even the occasional ones from Miss Lamb. To all intents and purposes he was Miss Lamb, for the letters were intended for the author of Spoils.

Now, however, the case was quite different, as anybody must see. As I thought of it I grew hot and cold, and cursed my own idiocy for deliberately setting such a trap for myself. I was in such a muddle over the whole thing by the time I got to the hotel that I decided not to say any-


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 thing to Brunt about it till I had got my own ideas straightened out a little. However, by the time luncheon was over, and we were sitting, the sole occupants of the smoking-room, I had decided that, though I had got Jack into the scrape, he would have to get himself out of it. So with as indifferent an air as I could muster, I said:

"By the way, John, here's a letter for the author of Spoils." He took it and glanced at the superscription.

"The Devil!" said he, with a very red face.

"The writer would be flattered if she could hear you," said I.

"I wonder how she would feel if she could see us both," John retorted, and he looked from the back of the letter to me in a very fierce manner Then, tossing the letter across the table, he said: "Well, it is your affair this time and not mine, I'm thankful to say. What are you going to do with the thing?"

"Do with it? I've done with it," said I.


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 "You wont leave it there on the table, I suppose."

"I have delivered it to the person to whom it is addressed."

"Is it addressed to me?"

"It is addressed to the author of Spoils. If the author of Spoils is not the dream of beauty you described to her namesake that is your look-out not mine. Seriously, Jack, I don't see but that you've got to read the letter. She evidently expects an answer toit. Either that," I added, "or make a clean breast of it."

The "either, or" is usually John's method, but this time it did not seem to appeal to him. It must be confessed, too, that his adviser was rather half-hearted in his counsel. So we beat about the bush in an unsatisfactory manner, till suddenly John seized a pen and cut the gordian knot, so to speak, by filling out the address:


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 "There," said he, eying his handiwork with a look of relief. "Perhaps when it comes back postmarked and smutched by contamination with the mailbags I may know what to do with it, but I'll be blessed if I could break the seal of that spotless envelope to save my soul."

And he marched forth to post it with his own hand.

That was after all the best solution for the time being, and we both felt that a weight had been lifted from our minds.


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OR a few days we did not see as much of Miss Lamb as John, for one, would have liked. We found we knew a good many people, and there were dinners and picnics and tennis galore. Sometimes we met Miss Lamb on these occasions, and sometimes we did not, but even when she was of the party she was usually taken possession of by people who seemed to think they had a prior claim.


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 One night there was a heavy fall of snow and, the next morning, the sun was shining like mad and all the world was glittering white. The mountains were much improved by this dispensation, and though the snow in the streets had vanished by noon, and the foothills soon shook it off, the high mountains were not so bare after that, and the nightcap had turned into a superb snowy canopy which was immensely becoming to Pike's Peak.

We had promised Miss Lamb not to visit North Cheyenne Cañon until she should give us leave. She said, when we first came, that there was too much ice for a comfortable ride, and, as she justly observed, one could not appreciate nature with one's thoughts all bent upon one's horse's feet.

The snow having blanketed the ice and rendered the road passable, we took advantage of the favorable circumstance, and one morning soon after, we found ourselves cantering, I and the two Lilians,


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 through the town and out toward Cheyenne Mountain. It was an exhilarating ride in the frosty air, with the sun blazing upon our backs and the buttresses of Cheyenne frowning down more and more superbly as we approached them.

"Mr. Dickson told me of your Indian war-whoop out on the plains," Miss Lamb said, as we rode along three abreast. "I know just how you felt when you did it."

"Try it yourself some time," said John. "It will do you lots of good."

"Oh, no! That is one of a woman's disabilities. If I were to try to shout, the result would be a shriek. Women are always in danger of doing something shrill if they allow themselves the slightest intensity."

"Yes, a 'slight intensity' might be shrill," John admitted with a laugh. "Did you ever run across anything so phenomenal?"

"Indeed I have," she rejoined, good-humoredly. "It is the most common


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 form of weakness. Have you never met with it?"

"You convince me that I have," said John, who is always delighted if he can get anybody to talk in riddles to him. "Is it not a characteristic of Lila Jean in Spoils?"

"Precisely," she agreed. Then turning to me: "That was rather well parried, don't you think? Henceforth 'slightly intense' is promoted from the level of bad English to that of an elaborate theory."

"Speaking of Spoils," she said later, as the horses fell into a walk, "you have never told me, Mr. Brunt, how you like the book."

"I think it an unusually strong novel. Do not you?"

"Oh, there can be no doubt about that."

"But you do not altogether like it?"

"Yes, I think I do. Yes, I like the book very much indeed. I am not sure that Maud is not my favorite heroine.


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 It is Lansinge whom I am not quite reconciled to."

"Why not?"

"I suppose, because he is not enough of a hero to suit my romantic notions."

"He is surely the central figure of the book. I think myself he is the best-conceived character in it."

"That may be. Indeed, I am sure it is. But he is not straightforward enough for my taste."

"He does finesse, I grant you. But he is never dishonorable."

"Dishonorable? Oh, no! There are many degrees between dishonorableness and the sort of transcendent integrity one requires in a hero. I suppose Lansinge is pretty honest as men go. I mean humans in general—and—here is the cañon."

We had been walking our horses for some time through the snow which was deep in the shade of the evergreens. The entrance to the cañon was not so marked as to be fixed at any one point, but at


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 Miss Lamb's word a sort of hush seemed to descend upon us, much as though we had entered one of those solemn old cathedrals in South Germany. The road was narrow, so that we soon went single file. Miss Lamb led the way, her horse making the first marks in the unbroken snow. Not strictly the first marks, however, for soon our guide turned and pointed out to us the tiny footprints of little creatures who had crossed the open space in search of water from the icethatched brook. Some of them we thought must have been coyotes, the tracks being as large as a child's shoe. But oftener the little marks suggested rabbits and squirrels, timid, furry bits of wild life, the thought of whose bright eyes and quick, sensitive motions seemed to animate the lonely scene. Once in a while we came to a bridge over the frozen brook, whose course the road followed. In the shadow of the gigantic gray and red walls on whose perpendicular heights there was no chance for the snow to cling,


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 the network of leafless bushes, bending over the brook, was glittering with ice, while the branches of the blue-green firtrees, drooped beneath their feathery burden. The way those walls towered up above it all was astonishing, with the sky like a blue roof spanning the interval.

I rode last, and it was pretty to see the other horses winding on ahead. I do not know that I ever saw a woman ride so well as Miss Lamb. If you notice, lots of women make a good appearance when the horse canters or trots. When the motion is marked they get going with it very well. But there was a litheness about Miss Lamb's figure, even when the horse was laboring up hill with his head hanging, which was rhythmic as music.

After a while we came to a widening of the cañon, where a cloisteral group of trees made a natural resting-place. Here our guide turned and waited for us. She had a brilliant color which quite flashed upon one, after having watched her dark hair and habit so long. At the moment


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 I could not but admit that there was something incongruous in the supposition that she was the author of those metrical laments.

"Your cañon is very fine," said John, lifting his hat in chivalrous style.

"I am glad to see that you acknowledge my ownership," she responded, gaily. "I took formal possession here long ago."

"It is good of you to admit the general public," said I.

"It is only the initiated who ever really get in," she replied. "But those who are kept out do not know it."

"I wonder whether we are in?" John queried.

"At least you know it if you are not!"

"Oh! Brunt's in, fast enough," said I. "You can see that at a glance. But seriously, Miss Lamb, this is mighty fine. Can we go any farther?"

"Won't you let me go ahead?" John begged, as we put our horses in motion. "There were some places back there


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 where I didn't enjoy seeing you feel your way."

"Very well. I will try to be more philosophical, and to take pleasure in any perils which may threaten you. But don't try to keep in too close to the wall. There is a treacherous slant in the road."

"Thanks. I will court destruction on the outer verge. Will you engage, if I go over, to watch the catastrophe with a 'slight intensity'?"

"I will engage that you do not go over. It is not Mr. Brunt's way to go over precipices; is it, Mr. Dickson?"

"Not usually. But there might be a first time."

This part of the cañon was as wild, but not nearly as solemn as the other, and we got quite sociable again. We passed a waterfall, which made a bold plunge into a rocky basin below us. The two Lilians stopped to examine it at rather an unfortunate spot for me, as it obliged my horse to linger on an ugly shelf where his hind leg kept slipping out, and I felt myself in


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 danger of making a more intimate acquaintance than I wished, with said waterfall. But just as we were about to descend gracefully, hind quarters foremost, into the abysm, Miss Lamb, turning to speak to me, saw my predicament, and crying, "Go on, quick, Mr. Brunt," touched up her horse, kindly giving me another chance of life.

"Why didn't you tell us to go on?" she asked, reproachfully, when we were on safe ground again.

"I couldn't be so rude," said I.

"What was the matter, Dick? Were we in your way?" asked John.

"Not in the least," I replied. "It was the wall of the cañon that was incommoding me."

I always make a point of appearing especially nonchalant when my heart is in my mouth.

The descent was just a little less exhilarating than the ride up, but altogether it was a fine trip, and when we were cantering again, three abreast, toward the


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 town, we all agreed that it had been a success, and that we would have another ride soon.

"Unless we disturb your tête-à-tête," I suggested, with a glance at the tiger-eye head and neck.

"Oh! Aunt Bessie has been telling tales," cried Miss Lamb. "It isn't often that Tiger and his mistress get a chance to play the guide—to two such appreciative tourists," she added politely.

"Dick," said John, thoughtfully, after we had left Miss Lamb at her gate, "do you think Miss Lamb would consider us models of 'transcendent integrity'?"

"My dear fellow," said I, "That was her definition of a hero. I had no idea you were so ambitious."

"I am ambitious of common honesty," he replied, with some warmth, "and I begin to feel remarkably like a pickpocket."

"Rubbish, Jack! You are all right! Don't go bothering your head about the romantic notions of a highstrung poetess and blighted being."


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 "I don't more than half believe that Miss Lamb is a poetess. If she is, she is an uncommonly good one, and she is not the kind of woman whom it is altogether pleasant to be playing tricks upon. Confound that novel! I wish I had never written it."

It was like Jack to confound the novel, and not his "experiment"; but I merely called his attention to the fact that, if he had not written the novel, he would never have ridden up Cheyenne Cañon with Miss Lamb—and me—and then I left him at the livery stable and went and took another look at the Bengal tiger before luncheon. In those days of dawning insecurity about John, it was always a solace to commune with the Bengal tiger. It would be such a peculiarly fitting gift if the occasion should arise, that the thought of it was superficially soothing to my gravest apprehensions.


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HE days went pleasantly by, and it began to seem so natural to be in Colorado that I could almost understand Ned Randall's preferring opulence there to penury in New York. Almost, but not quite. Every little while a Pow-wow letter would strike a chord, or an item in a New York paper would break the spell, and I would find my thoughts reverting fondly to a certain dingy old den in the midst of the hubbub, and I knew that I should be ready enough to return to my native pavingstones when the time came.


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 Among the letters arriving for me and my Lilian, I had almost forgotten to look for that fateful one which had caused us such embarrassment. But one evening when John and I came up from playing billiards, we found it in my room, staring us in the face. John had evidently been less oblivious of the impending crisis than I, for he was prepared for it.

"And now what are you going to do with it?" I asked, feeling that he must be quite up a tree.

"There is only one thing to do," said he, eying it distrustfully, as though he expected it to break its own seal and unfold itself to his unwilling sight; and he pulled a match out of his pocket.

"Isn't that rather a high-handed proceeding?" I asked, in some trepidation.

"Better be high-handed than underhanded," he declared, and forthwith he struck a match, lighted a corner of the envelope and put it into the empty grate. The paper turned brown and curled up a little and then the flame went out.


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 "Try again, Jack," said I; "the evidences of crime are not so easily disposed of."

This time the flame licked its way overto the sealing wax, which sizzled and blazed up for a moment, and then out she went again, leaving an ugly smutch in the grate.

"I say, Jack, this is grewsome. It reminds a fellow of all the detective stories he ever read. I'll bet a dime you won't succeed in burning that all up. The infallible clue will be found lurking in a swallow's nest in the chimney, and your crime will be proclaimed from the housetops—literally."

"It isn't the right shape to burn," he muttered, without a flicker of a smile at my little sally. John has such a way of getting absorbed in what he is about that he loses a good deal! He had taken out his pocket-knife and was now gravely cutting the envelope with its contents into strips an inch wide, which he placed crosswise on top of each other


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 in the grate. This proved a more successful arrangement and a miniature conflagration took place. We were watching it with mingled emotions, when a rap at the door made us start like conspirators, and in walked Ned Randall.

"Good for you, fellows!" he sang out. "I thought you wouldn't have turned in yet. It takes an Eastern man to sit up till bedtime"; and he settled himself comfortably beneath the genial rays of the gas burner. We had: up some lager, lighted our pipes, and got things quite comfortable and homelike.

Ned was turning over some books and papers on the table, when suddenly he remarked, à propos of nothing:

"By the way, Brunt, Mrs. Ellerton tells me that you know her niece's namesake, the author of Spoils."

"Yes, worse luck to it" John blurted out, "I know her."

"I suppose people bore you to death about her."


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 "Yes. It is an everlasting nuisance to be the confidant of a celebrity."

"I haven't much of a fancy for strong-minded women myself," Ned said soothingly, "but according to Mrs. Ellerton's account, this one must be a charmer."

"They're all alike," growled John. Then, recovering himself: "I never knew a literary fiend who wasn't more or less of a crank."

After that we got out of the breakers, and sailed away into a long talk, quite in Pow-wow style. Somewhere about midnight Ned departed, and John was about to go too, when I caught sight of a narrow strip of paper which the draught from the open door had sent fluttering across the carpet.

"The clue!" I cried, giving chase, and, as I picked it up, my eye fell upon a couple of lines written in the handwriting we had so much admired.

"Oh, I say, John! That's pretty rough on you!"


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 John flung his scruples to the winds, snatched the paper, and read the following blood-curdling fragment—"not but admire his beautiful self-confidence, though it"

"Now don't you wish you hadn't burned it up?" I cried, much tickled.

"Pooh!" said he, with pretended indifference. "Nobody knows whom she was writing about"; and without reading what was written on the other side of the strip, he tore the paper up into microscopic fractions.

"Perhaps it was Benny Mortimer," I suggested.

Benny was a meek little man, who blushed when he was spoken to.

"There are worse things than self-confidence," John declared, as he held the door-handle, "I wish I had a little more myself." And with this rash and startling assertion, he went off down the corridor, to his own roost.

John has his faults like the rest of us, but I had never suspected him of


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 being self-distrustful. No reason why he should be, as far as that goes. He has always carried everything before him. The only wonder is, that he keeps his relish for life when it goes so easily. I never realized how unspoiled he was by his invariable good luck, until I witnessed the boyish and headlong way in which he fell in love. Poor old Jack! He never does anything by halves, and much as I regretted the catastrophe I felt that I never should forgive Miss Lamb if she disappointed him.

I remember asking John once, a year or two before this, how it happened that he had never been in love.

"Bless you, Dick," he said, with that patronizing air he occasionally takes on, "what a babe you are! I've been in love lots of times." Then settling back in his leathern arm-chair, and stretching his legs comfortably, he added: "Only I could never manage to stay in long enough to make it necessary to give myself away."


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 I knew, however, from the beginning that this was a different matter altogether. Poor old Jack! I could hardly sleep for thinking of the look in his eyes when he stood there with the door-handle in his hand.


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OR the next few days I hardly knew Brunt. He was depressed and out of sorts, not to say out of temper. John is always rather breezy, but I never before nor since knew him to be irritable. When his friends are aggravating he laughs at them, and if other people are bothersome he turns his back, which is a good broad one.

"What's the matter, Jack," said I, one day. "You seem out of sorts. Is it because you haven't been up Pike's


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 Peak according to your original programme?"

"Yes," said he, "I always hate to have heights continually before my eyes that I can't climb."

"But you might go up if you liked," said I, ready to humor him.

"Yes, and get frozen to death at the top. Thanks, it doesn't tempt me."

"Did you ever hear of any one getting frozen to death up there?"

"No, but I have an idea that the summit is strewn with corpses."

It always refreshes Jack to talk in riddles, and when they are transparent enough for my comprehension, I sometimes join in. A vision of Ned and Benny frozen stiff in characteristic attitudes in the "lucidity" of a certain high altitude visited my imagination, and a sympathetic shiver accompanied it.

We were to start for New York soon after Christmas and I began to think John was likely to be poor company on the journey. He had got absurdly morbid


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 on the subject of that letter. I believe he tried two or three times to confess to Miss Lamb, though it went sadly against the grain. I think, myself, that a twentieth edition would have loosened his tongue; yet I must say, in justice to him, that Miss Lamb was partly responsible for his ill success. She had the most singular way of warding off confidences. I remember one occasion in particular when she turned the conversation so effectually that it would have been impossible to go on.

It was two or three days after our solemn auto-da-fé, and we were picnicking with a party of people at Monument Park. By rare good luck John and I had got Miss Lamb to ourselves, a little apart from the rest of the crowd, in a warm, sunny hollow, at the foot of one of those huge yellow monsters in stone with hats on their heads. Miss Lamb and I were making an amicable exchange of a very plump quail in return for a glass of claret, when she suddenly


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 asked me why, I supposed, Miss Lamb did not answer her letter.

"Have you had no answer yet?" I asked in feigned surprise, trying to gain time for invention.

"Not a word," she said, "and I begin to think that you were mistaken in supposing that she wanted to hear from me."

"I suppose," said I, "there must have been some error in the address, either on her part or mine."

"Miss Lamb," John began, visibly bracing himself for the effort. "I have something to tell you about the author of Spoils."

"Oh, please not," she cried, in mock dismay. "I really don't want to hear anything more about her. I know just enough to make her interesting."

"But it is something I must tell you," John began again.

"Stop a minute, please. I will listen to you only on one condition. Are you sure that what you wish to tell me will not diminish my interest in her?"


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 "I think it will increase it," said I, anxious to help John.

"But shall I admire her as much as ever? Are you perfectly sure you would not destroy an ideal? It is so seldom that one has a full-fledged ideal to satisfy one's imagination with. Are you perfectly sure that what Mr. Brunt is going to tell me will not disturb that?"

"I am afraid it may," said the undiplomatic John, "but—"

"Then I positively refuse to listen. And would you be so kind as to get me a glass of water, Mr. Brunt? Your wine is delicious, but it does not take the place of water."

Before John returned with the water some of the other picnickers had joined our little party and the time for disclosures was past.

Very much the same thing happened on several occasions which John reported, It seemed to be a caprice of Miss Lamb's to hear nothing more about her name sake. Once, indeed, when we were call-


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 ing upon them and Mrs. Ellerton opened the subject, her niece interfered so resolutely, that I began to wonder whether pique had not something to do with it. Was she offended at having received no answer to her letter? Or—a sudden light burst in upon me—was she jealous of her gifted namesake. The latter suspicion I ventured to impart to John, who promptly demolished me.

"Why on earth should Miss Lamb be jealous of anybody under heaven?" he demanded. "I think you must have been reading dime novels, Dick."

"Then why won't she hear the name mentioned?"

"She is tired to death of it, as I am! Hang it all!"

As I said before, John was very unlike himself.

To make matters worse, a little thing happened about that time to stir him all up again about the authorship of the poems. Having borrowed some current magazines from Miss Lamb, we were sit-


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 ting one evening in my room, turning them over, when I came across a sheet of paper on which there were three verses written in pencil in Miss Lamb's hand. Considering poetry to be public property, I glanced over the verses, which rejoiced in the hilarious title of "A Plaint." They were not so harrowing as some of their predecessors, to be sure, yet they were hardly calculated to have an exhilarating effect upon John. He had about succeeded in convincing himself that the "friend" was genuine, that appearances were not deceitful, that the girl of his choice was not a blighted being. This, although there was so much evidence of the poems having been written in Colorado Springs and by some one sharing all Miss Lamb's personal interests, that he was almost driven to accept the "unenterprising" Mrs. Ellerton's authorship as the sole alternative. And here was Miss Lamb herself—no mistaking the author this time—still fondly and mournfully contemplating the fragments of a


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 broken heart. It would perhaps have been kinder to suppress my discovery, but such magnanimity was beyond me, and I cried:

"Look here, John. Here's a clincher! No question about this anyhow. See, she has corrected two of the lines. Dated on the 10th of December too," I went on, as he began reading the verses. "A week after our arrival. By Jove! Women are deep!"

While I was endeavoring to reconcile my memory of Miss Lamb's cheerful countenance with the graveyard phantasy I had just read, John was spending more time than seemed strictly necessary, in perusing the verses. By the time he had got through, his face looked pretty black, and he said, in a peculiar, jarring voice:

"I don't know, Dick, whether to be more proud of the way in which we have deceived Miss Lamb about ourselves, or of the manner in which we have succeeded in prying into her private affairs.


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 Anyhow I am going to bed. Good-night!"

He departed, carrying the paper off with him.

The next morning he asked me if I did not think we had been in Colorado about long enough, and we agreed to start for home on the 26th.


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HE day on which we fixed our plan for departure was the 22d, and we had promised Randall to come up to the polo ground and see the first game of the season. We were rather late in arriving, and we found a gay crowd collected at one corner of the ground. It was a mighty pretty sight. The wide, level field just out of the town, with redand blue-capped riders tearing about after the balls, and cutting sudden and impossible angles on their stocky little ponies; the bright-colored flags flying from the


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 poles, and the groups of pretty turn-outs with well-dressed people looking on. There were lots of riders, too, among the spectators, so that there was no lack of life and movement outside the grounds, as these free lances passed from villagecart to buckboard, from buckboard to victoria, paying their respects to the prosperous-looking occupants. The mountains appeared very big that morning, brooding, in grandfatherly fashion, over the gambols of man and beast.

We soon discovered Miss Lamb on horseback standing near a victoria in which her aunt was seated with their neighbor Mrs. Brown, and her little twoyear-old child. Benny Mortimer, also on horseback, seemed to be acting as escort, and we were about to brave Benny's blushing displeasure, by joining the party, when the baby in the victoria began to wail, at the same time putting up its little hands to Miss Lamb. As we rode nearer, Miss Lamb was saying: "Rosamund wants a ride. Why won't


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 you let me take her home? I was just going."

The child seemed to perceive her advantage, and her cries became more vociferous and more unintelligible than before.

"But were you really going?" asked the mother.

"Indeed I was, and am. Do let me take her. We should both enjoy it so much; and you will never be able to leave the field till the 'blues' have won."

"She is a naughty, fretful baby, but, if you want to spoil her you may. I suppose it is alla jumble to her poor little head, and she probably does not know whether her 'dee papa' is a red ora blue,"—and then with a most astounding confidence this rash mother resigned her offspring to the alarming situation proposed.

Miss Lamb reached down and lifted the child with a charming ease and grace, and then, holding her in her right arm, she walked her horse toward us, escorted


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 by the faithful but embarrassed Benny. The little yellow-haired midget held on to Miss Lamb's neck, her small, flushed face pressed against her protector's chin, and looked out upon the world with the light of victory in her blue eyes. The polo was exciting, at that moment, and all faces were turned toward the field; but I am sure John and I had the amazement of a great multitude in the fascinated gaze with which we met the little cavalcade.

"But, Miss Lamb, isn't that awfully risky?" I remonstrated; for I felt that it was somebody's duty to interpose for the rescue of the child.

"Not a bit!" she said. "Rosamund is a real horsewoman"; and she put Tiger into an easy lope and rode off, the baby crowing with delight, and Benny looking rather nervous as escort.

John and I desisted from our intention of visiting the victoria, and walked our horses to a point close up to the boundary, where we could follow the game better.


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 "I suppose that is the Rosamund of those pretty verses," said I; "they are evidently cronies."

Perhaps you remember the poem in which a certain "Baby Rosamund" is addressed as "My little crony." John once said it was a "gem."

He now sat lost in thought, instead of looking at the field, till suddenly the whole game came charging down upon us with such a thundering noise that John's horse shied almost from under him. The rider stuck fast, however, and thus recalled to his senses, had the grace to look on, as Ned himself, from out of a tremendous scuffle, sent the ball flying between the goals.

"Pretty work that!" I cried, as the applause subsided.

John assented rather vaguely and then turned his horse's head and seemed about to take French leave. I gave chase and asked where he was going. He said it was so confoundedly hot standing there in the sun that he was going for a ride.


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 He "had seen polo before." So had I; but I didn't propose to lose the rest of the fun, for all that; so I stayed on and had a very pleasant morning. There are lots of nice girls in Colorado Springs.

When I rode down the avenue an hour later, I was not altogether surprised to see John's horse tied to Mrs. Ellerton's hitching-post, and finding him sitting on the piazza with Miss Lamb,—in the "confoundedly hot" sun, by the way,—I thought I would go in and inquire what had been done with the remaining pieces of the baby. Before I could bring on my little joke, however, Miss Lamb, who, for the first time in our acquaintance, looked slightly agitated, was saying:

"O Mr. Dickson! please come and defend me. Mr. Brunt is accusing me of having written Leslie Smith's poems."

"And do you deny it?" I asked, filled with a burning curiosity to know the truth.

"What! You think so too?" she


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 cried, reproachfully, and my curiosity went out like a candle.

"I couldn't be so indiscreet as to think anything about it," I said, feeling very small indeed.

"And we have no right to ask you any questions," said John, promptly mounting his high horse. "Dick, I have made an unconscionably long call. I really must be going; but don't let me hurry you."

"Have you told Miss Lamb how soon we are going home?" I asked, as we all stood up.

"Going home?" she repeated, with a sudden change of countenance, and a swift glance at John.

John did not see it. He was occupied in winding the lash of his riding crop about the stick in complicated and artistic twists.

"We are going on the 26th," said I, with a penetrating look at Miss Lamb.

There was a dead silence for a second, and then Miss Lamb replied with a queer


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 little laugh, the queerer, because she is not the kind of girl to laugh by way of conversation.

"I don't know why I should be so surprised. I only wonder that you should have stayed as long as you have. There is so much coming and going here," she added, more easily, "that we name our fleeting visitors 'episodes.

"And shall you call us 'episodes'?" John inquired, letting the artistic design untwist with a snap.

"Why, we shall have to."

At that moment Mrs. Ellerton drove up to the gate.

"Bad news, Aunt Bessie," said the niece as her aunt came up the steps. "Mr. Brunt and Mr. Dickson are to join the noble army of 'episodes' on the 26th."

"Lilian! Don't be so rude! Are you really going, Mr. Dickson?"

"I am afraid we are, though we hate to."

"It must be afflicting to go back to


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 poor little provincial New York," said Miss Lamb. "Just think of it, Aunt Bessie! To exchange Pike's Peak Avenue for Broadway, and picnics at Monument Park for the German Opera and the Pow-wow! Isn't it the Pow-wow?"

Miss Lamb's manner as she said this was singularly out of character, but as we turned to go, she spoke like herself again, and that is always charmingly, whatever she may be saying.

"We must not forget, Mr. Dickson, that you have not yet got that book of pressed Colorado flowers for your sister. Do you remember, I told you they were done by 'a bird in a cage'? Aunt Bessie, could we not all drive to Manitou and visit the cage some day this week? Say the day after to-morrow?"

"By all means, if the gentlemen can spare the time when they are going so soon."

The gentlemen expressed themselves as delighted. What had we come to Colorado for, I should like to know!


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 We had taken our leave, when Johts turned deliberately back and said, "right out in meeting," as it were:

"I was unpardonably rude, Miss Lamb."

"I think you were," she said, with a slight shake in her voice, of some sort of emotion, I could not tell what; "and I am afraid I shall not have time to forgive you before you go."

There was a look, half-aggrieved, half-deprecating in her eyes, but she gave him her hand, and reminded us once more of the hour fixed for the drive.

I don't know how much Miss Lamb had to explain to Mrs. Ellerton, but my curiosity, at least, was aroused.

"What on earth—" I began the moment we were out of hearing.

"Oh, I was an ass. That's all. She sat there looking so cool and self-contained that I got suddenly perfectly furious at the whole thing, and tried to break in upon her confidence. I can't tell you, for the life of me, what I said, but it was enough to show her that I knew, and when she tried


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 to evade me, I pulled out that confounded poem you found between the leaves of the Atlantic, and handed it to her with what I think must have been a perfectly devilish grin, and told her how sorry we were to seem to have pried into her affairs."

"Good heavens, John! You were an ass!" There are moments when one must be frank, or burst. "But go on, goon! What did she say?"

"What did she say? She looked volumes, but she only said, 'One can happily copy much better things than one could write'; and at that moment you rode up, and I am perfectly certain you saved my life."

"Glad to hear it, Jack. Did she seem so dangerous?"

"No, not that! I was merely withering up inside. Not a pleasant form of demise," he added, dryly.

"But, on the whole, what impression did you get?" I asked, for being of a practical turn of mind I wanted to get hold of the facts.


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 "I got the impression that I had better mind my own business."

I was really sorry for Jack. He had certainly made a mess of it. But I felt that it was the duty of a friend to cheer him; so I said, hopefully:

"Never mind, Jack. When you are an 'episode,' you won't care a rap about the whole affair."

To this cheerful proposition he had nothing to say; and I tried another tack.

"Don't you see?" said I, "Miss Lamb was sure to be offended in either case. Whether she wrote the poems or not, she would hate to be taxed with it, considering the 'autobiographical' ones."

"My dear Dick, when a man knows he has been an infernal idiot there is no use in proving it as though it were a point of law. Unless, of course, you think it valuable practice. In that case, just reduce me to powder without a qualm."

Upon that I returned to my first tack.

"Well," I said, "I hope you will be as glad as I shall be when we are out of


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 the whole muddle. I, for one, am sick of complications. I already lie awake nights, thinking how simple life in New York will seem. There, at least, one can call a spade, a spade, and if there are broken hearts lying round loose, one does not know it."

"Can't you pursue the comparison with some allusion to clubs and diamonds? The joker might certainly be worked in here."

John must indeed have been very low in his mind. With some mena pun is the natural outcome of exhilaration; the head and the heart get light together. With John, on the contrary, it was only an indication of the deepest gloom.

I gave up trying to cheer him, and turned my thoughts to Miss Lamb. Her demeanor had suggested many questions which I found myself quite unable to answer. Was she aware of John's interest? Did she reciprocate? What was the significance of that swift glance, and the ensuing pause, when I


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 announced the date of our departure? Why did she suddenly seem flippant? The flippancy was a mask of course. Was it assumed to hide her chagrin at being found out, or to conceal her displeasure at John's impertinence? For indeed no milder term will suffice. Was she merely afraid that we should see how sorry she was that John was going? In other words, did she like him? If she did, was he her first choice, or had she a "past," as the saying is. How fervently I now hoped that the "past" existed only in our undisciplined imaginations. I could not bear that John should break his heart over the woman who wrote the "Sonnets of Constance." Yet she must have written them. Everything went to prove it. And then I thought of her clear eye and her healthy way of looking and talking, and I was more in a mix than ever.

Yes, nothing could be more futile than such speculations, and I finally made an end of them.


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HE 24th was cold as Greenland, but one does not mind the thermometer in Colorado when there is no wind, and we found the double buckboard before Mrs. Ellerton's door, and the two ladies equipped for their drive. I remember how well Miss Lamb looked, dressed in the cheerful black which cannot be mistaken for mourning. I liked the little round velvet hat she wore, and she was particularly becoming to the shoulder cape of long shiny black fur which she had on. Mrs. Ellerton, who


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 appeared as a dimly defined but very expensive mass of sealskin, invited John to sit with her, while Miss Lamb, with a half apology to me, kept the reins herself.

"The horses are going to dance," she said, "and I am sure I shall enjoy them more than you would." The horses did dance, and Miss Lamb managed them beautifully.

"I am afraid Mr. Brunt wishes he were nearer the scene of action," said Mrs. Ellerton, as the nigh horse gave a playful kick, and the other one cocked his ears at an eccentric angle which boded mischief.

John protested, politely, and I reflected that he must have a fine view of the driver. The stinging air had heightened her color, and there was an intent look on her face, and an alertness in her eyes which must have been agreeable to look upon. I was myself debarred by my close proximity from an unrestricted contemplation thereof.

The horses afforded us a good deal of


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 entertainment as we bowled along, past the flourishing collection of "sample rooms" in Colorado City. There was not much talking done. As we approached Manitou it was curious to see how the mountains seemed to gather themselves together and frown at our intrusion, a sort of dumb protest which never appears to make a deep impression on any one but the writers of descriptions in prose and verse. Manitou looked wonderfully Alpine, lying in a cleft of the hills, so narrow that the village had been obliged to find room for itself by climbing up the hillsides on either hand. The big hotels were nearly all closed, and there was a Sunday-like calm in the street, but the noisy brook went rollicking through the valley, and as we got opposite the soda spring, the beginning of a huge drove of cattle emerged from the Ute Pass with deep and various lowings and bellowings. By the time we had reached "the Perch," the streets were swarming with the great beasts, accompanied by


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 shouting cowboys, riding scrawny but agile broncos, under whose generalship—for the ponies seemed to take the initiative in the affair—the moving mass of creatures was kept in marching order.

We stood for a moment on the little verandah, waiting for admission "The Perch" is a tiny cottage well up on a brick-red hillside, whence the peak is just visible above the enfolding hills.

The door opened and a little woman on crutches stood before us. She was Miss Willet, the presser of flowers, the friend and presumably the protégé of Miss Lamb. She seemed prepared for our coming, as much so as so small and frail a creature, in so tiny a room, could be prepared for an avalanche of four great hearty men and women. And we soon found that she was mistress of the situation.

"Don't sit down, Lilian," she said, in a high, bird-like treble, "don't sit down till you've fetched the tea. You must be nearly frozen. It's all ready" she added,


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 as Miss Lamb vanished, "but I am not fond of hobbling about in company, so Lilian waits on me."

Not exactly the tone of a protégé I thought, and I said:

"How pleasant it is to hear the cattle go by."

"Yes, indeed," said Miss Willet. "That is about all the music we have here in the winter. In the summer we are very gay, with our hops and Sunday concerts."

"Do you go down to the hops?" I asked.

"Dear me, no! I haven't been down the hill for three years. But the music comes up to me—which is much easier. Mahomet and the mountain you know."

John looked with a benignant smile at the minute speaker, and said: "So you are the mountain?"

"Sometimes the mountain and sometimes the squirrel, just as I please. I often think of Emerson's squirrel when I sit here, face to face with that big Pike's


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 Peak and crack my own little nuts. What good things you have said about Emerson, Mr. Brunt. That essay of yours was one of the most toothsome nuts I ever cracked—saving your presence."

The sort of twinkle of appreciation that accompanied this remark was delightful, and I don't think I ever saw John more pleased with a compliment.

Just at that moment Miss Lamb appeared with the tea, and he took the tray from her hands in his masterful way, and set it on the table beside Miss Willet. Then we watched our little hostess pour out tea, with dainty, bird-like motions. One was constantly reminded of Miss Lamb's "bird in a cage." She looked as though she might be thirty or forty or fifty years old; it did not matter which. She had bright dark eyes, and a peculiarly crisp enunciation; the two most noticeable things about her. After a while one observed a slightly drawn look about the mouth, but it smiled and talked so much that it was only at


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 rare intervals that one could surprise it at rest.

The tea warmed a body up delightfully, and the little cakes were most pleasing.

"What a famous cook you are, Miss Willet," said Mrs. Ellerton, as she tasted the cakes.

"Did you make these delectable little things yourself?" asked John.

"Who else should make them?" she demanded, with a quick turn of the head. "You don't suppose I keep a retinue of servants in this dry-goods box?"

"Would it take a retinue?"

"Lilian," said she, with apparent irrelevance. "You are the most considerate young person of my acquaintance. You never find it necessary to embellish your conversation with an account of your friends' idiosyncrasies. Now some of my very well-meaning acquaintances show me off to their friends as a sort of curiosity, as being a woman who lives quite alone, and is an extremely odd fish.


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 I'll warrant that Lilian has never even told you of the five cats which have lightened my solitude from time to time, only to go the way of Colorado cats as promptly as though they had an appointment to keep."

"And what is the way of Colorado cats? We don't even know that."

"A premature death. They are as rare as peacocks here. You can't induce them to live. And I won't have a dog, because he would bark if a burglar approached the house, and scare me out of my wits."

"And you really live here entirely alone?" asked Brunt, in that great, friendly, benevolent voice he has for all fragile creatures. We both thought of the wild Indians and wilder cowboys, with which our imaginations had formerly peopled Colorado. Yet, even so, the wild beasts seldom harm the birds.

"Well, not quite alone," the tiny woman was saying. "There are Gog and Magog up there"—pointing to two


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 monstrous rocks on the opposite mountain side,—"and there is my cuckoo-clock that little Rosamund brought me on her first birthday. And then a woman comes in for an hour every morning to tidy me up. I name them in the order of their importance. I could dispense with the woman much more lightly than with Gog and Magog, or the clock either."

We looked with interest at Gog and Magog, remembering that Leslie Smith had celebrated their "uncouth majesties." Miss Willet's talk ran on with unfailing fluency and spirit, and, withal, a quite irresistible charm. It was like firelight. It flickered from one theme to another and brightened everything it touched. John was clearly enchanted with the whole situation. He sat there looking from the "bird" to Miss Lamb and from Miss Lamb to the "bird," with such a blissful content in his face, that it seemed to me he must have a deeper source of satisfaction than the mere pleasure of listening to this bird-like chirping.


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 She showed us her books of pressed flowers and we longed to buy out her entire stock. But delicacy forbade, and we were obliged to content ourselves with taking two of the very largest and most expensive. I am sure that when Miss Willet told us that "Lilian" had gathered most of her flowers for her, John would have joyfully paid half his fortune for a single specimen. That, however, was happily not necessary. We do not have to pay half our fortune for the things we most desire. If we get them at all, they come as a free gift.

When we were taking leave, Miss Willet, still sitting in her chair, put her tiny hand into John's big one, and said, very warmly: "I don't suppose I shall ever see you again, Mr. Brunt, but I should like you to know that it has been a very particular gratification to me to see you to-day."

"It cannot possibly be to you what it has been to me, Miss Willet," said John, in his very deepest voice, "and I think we shall meet again."


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 I stood stupidly wondering at this exchange of rather ardent compliments, without an inkling of what it all meant; nor could I divine why John was in such spirits on the homeward drive. He talked so entertainingly, and with such delightful abandonment, that his companion, Mrs. Ellerton, seemed quite swept out of her usual placid indolence, and responded with an animation which I had not thought her capable of. Miss Lamb and I did more listening than talking.

To cap the climax of this exhilarating morning, we found an advance copy of Leslie Smith's poems awaiting us at the hotel, John tore open the wrapper with feverish impatience, as we walked along the corridor to our rooms, and by the time we got to his door he had taken a bird's-eye view of the entire contents.

"Isn't that a pretty bit of binding and printing?" said he, exultantly, as we shut the door behind us.

It was, indeed, all and more than our fancy had painted. Whoever might be their author, the poems of Leslie Smith


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 had made their début, equipped, as the newspapers say, "with every advantage the bookmaker's art could bestow."

I was still admiring them, when John, who had stood, meanwhile, fairly fuming with impatience, cried: "And now we know who wrote them!"

"Has she confessed?" I asked, looking up from my favorite Knighted.

"Confessed? No. But there can't be any doubt about it. Everything goes to prove it. 'Gog and Magog,' 'Solitude,' 'The Cripple's Cup.' I tell you that 'Cripple's Cup' is an inside view."

"Good gracious, Jack!" said I. "You don't think the 'bird in the cage' wrote them?"

"If she didn't, nobody did! Why it was all in Her eye as plain as print."

"What was in her eye, Jack? Do talk sense."

"The inspired ones, the best ones; and the melancholy ones were in the corners of her mouth; and the witty ones were in the cut of her nose; and the de-


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 scriptive ones in her whole environment; and the philosophy was in her crutches!"

I did not propose to be convinced by such random talk as this, but somehow I began to feel as though I had made the discovery all on my own account.

"How are you going to make sure?" I asked.

"This is how I am going to make sure," and John sat down, and scribbled off these few lines:

In half an hour the answer came:


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 At two o'clock they were off and I was left to chew the cud of my reflections. These were not altogether soothing. I felt perfectly sure now that sooner or later John would take the plunge, and I felt for him. Such an awkward thing to do under the most favorable circumstances, and who could tell how Miss Lamb would like it after such a very short acquaintance. She did not impress me as a girl who would say "Yes, thank you" as a matter of course just because John was a distinguished man and a fine fellow, and I could not form any surmise as to the state of her feelings toward him. I did not think she was indifferent to him; no intelligent person ever was, to my knowledge; but from indifference to "for better, for worse," is a far cry. I recalled what Ned Randall had said about her "lucidity," and that was some little comfort. Yet, on the whole, I was not sure that John was the man to be deterred by "lucidity," unless it were very marked indeed. He had not Ned's vanity to


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 cause him to shrink from a rebuff, nor Benny Mortimer's excessive modesty to make him self-distrustful. He would survive a rejection, of course. It would take more than that to demolish John, or at least I hoped so, but it would be rough, and I couldn't bear to think of it.

Then I imagined her saying yes, and that was about as bad as the other.

"O Lord!" I caught myself saying. "Why need she have been such a provoking paragon? What did she want to go and do all those charming things for? Was it not enough that she should write such uncommonly good letters, and drag us out by them to this fatal place, without being so unnecessarily good-looking, and riding so absurdly well, and talking just after John's own heart, and being, altogether, I verily believe, the one woman on this planet whom John would lose his head over?"

My mind reverted to the grace and sweetness with which she picked up that


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 picturesque infant at the Polo Ground and rode off with it; to the manner in which she poked the fire the first evening of our acquaintance, letting the flame light up her face; to her firm hand and quick eye as she drove those prancing steeds to Manitou. All seemed like so many wanton shots let fly without regard to the mischief they might do. And of course it was her perfect unconsciousness which rendered them fatal. I actually felt a grudge against her for having tumbled out of the apple tree at the age of seven, and for having so politely thanked her torturer for his services. I remembered with a shudder a remark John made one day when we first came to Colorado, and I was harping on the old string of Leslie Smith's identity.

"I don't care whether Miss Lamb writes poetry or not," John had suddenly declared. "She is a better poem herself than any I ever read."

Yes, John was in for it, that was sure as sunrise, and as I couldn't make up my


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 mind which would be my choice of two evils, I went forth and paid some duty calls, thanking my stars that all girls were not so exasperatingly admirable as this one.


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HEN I got home, long after dark, I found John striding up and down my room in a blaze of glory from all the gas-burners, every one of which he had lighted up, for some reason best known to himself.

"Hullo!" said I. "Got back?"

To which original greeting he responded by wringing my hand unmercifully.

"Good heavens, Jack!" I groaned, partly from physical anguish, partly from


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 the shock of a tremendous conviction. "You don't want my hand."

He dropped it, and then he laughed, that splendid old laugh of his that would make a raven smile.

"Dick, you blessed youngster," said he, "aren't you going to congratulate me?"

"John Brunt," said I, "you haven't done the deed?"

He says my voice was awe-struck, but I know better. Awe was not the emotion I felt at the moment.

"Yes, Dick," he said, with a sudden solemnity, "she has accepted me."

"What! On horseback?" I cried, for that circumstance was really the first thing that struck me.

"Yes, on horseback," he admitted, and then he laughed again.

I did not press for details. In fact I was too much taken aback at first to ask any more questions, and I found John more inclined to talk of the earlier part of the trip. He gave a comical account of little


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 Miss Willet's consternation when she found that her secret was out. But John swore himself and me also to secrecy, and bye and bye she thawed out and let him see her joy in the book, which she handled in a caressing way that told her story better than words.

On their way home he seems to have confessed to his companion how he had tormented himself with the question of the authorship, and that was sure to bring about a declaration, as anybody could see.

They rode in over the lower Mesa. It was getting dark, and was so cold that they rode fast. I can imagine how the hoof beats chimed in with John's impetuous words, and if Miss Lamb is the woman I take her for, her own pulse must have kept time with both.


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T was a glorious Christmas morning and Pike's Peak was in his grandest mood, glittering white in the sunshine, with warm dark shadows in the deep ravines.

We stood, paying homage to the splendid old fellow, on our way to the breakfast-room, and I gave John's hand a good hard grip by way of apology for my somewhat incomplete congratulations of the night before.


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 "Isn't it glorious!" he said, with an air of including life in general in his encomium.

"You like Pike's Peak better than you did at first," I remarked.

"Like it? I adore it."

"All in three weeks," I murmured, ruefully.

"All in three weeks!"

His tone was positively jubilant, and I could not but admire him. A man who can keep up his spirits at such a time must have a lot of grit.

"Have you told her about the other Lilian?" I asked.

His face fell, and I fancied he was thinking of the twentieth edition. Only nineteen had yet appeared.

"No. I meant to, but it didn't come in naturally."

"You'll have to tell her before long, you know."

"Dick, I wonder how she will take it."

"Poh! she will be pleased as Punch, I


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 warrant you. But I wish I might be there to see her surprise."

The two Lilians were to ride again that morning. John was polite but not urgent in inviting me to accompany them. But we were both bidden to dinner, and I felt that I could curb my impatience till then.

In the course of the morning, however, I paid my respects to Mrs. Ellerton, who seemed to be taking it very philosophically. Women have so much nerve in an emergency. To be sure, Mrs. Ellerton had come to like John very well, especially after she learned that his mother was a Van Deusenberg. As for me, it would not have reconciled me in the least degree if Miss Lamb's mother had been the Empress of Madagascar. I often wonder if women care as much about things as men do.

Just before we started out to dine at Mrs. Ellerton's John received a letter from the Sandersons. He opened it and read it with a grunt of satisfaction.


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 "What pleases you, Jack?" I asked.

"The twentieth edition," said he. "I always meant to tell when the twentieth edition was out."

"I do believe," said I, as we walked up the avenue, "I do believe that you are perfectly easy in your mind about the whole thing since you have gained your point."

"Perhaps you are right, Dick," said he. "I suddenly feel as though I had been a fool to worry about it. I am sure Miss Lamb will understand everything perfectly. I say, Dick, why didn't you tell me what a fool I was?"

"I didn't find you susceptible to hints in that direction, and one doesn't want to be brutal. But, look here, Jack. She may forgive you, but what will she think of me for making her write that letter?"

"Oh, she won't resent anything you have done!"

This was more consolatory than flattering.

"I should like to be by when the cur-


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 tain goes up," I said, meekly overlooking the snub.

"Perhaps you may be. I don't mind if you give it a hoist yourself."

The two ladies met us in the hall just as they did the first evening we dined there. Miss Lamb had on a gown of some sort of lacy black stuff that was very becoming. She wore some roses, which, together with her brilliant face, lighted things up finely. I don't mean that her color was brilliant. It was more the look. I thought of the star John once compared it to. He evidently was not so far afield in that comparison as lovers usually are. Somehow I found myself with a very warm feeling toward Miss Lamb, in spite of my personal grievance, and I had a much easier time with my congratulations than I had anticipated.

I never saw a newly engaged couple carry it off better than did those two. They seemed to take it for granted in such a comfortable way, yet there was no


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 mistaking them. Their state of mind, though unobtrusive, was clearly beatific. After all, one must be a monster of selfishness, not to rejoice in the happiness of one's best friend, however misguided he may be. Besides which, there was the Bengal tiger in the background. That was a justification such as few weddings have.

Once more John took Mrs. Ellerton in to dinner, and! Miss Lamb, and the similarity of the situation, together with the stupendous changes, made it really bewildering. Once more Mrs. Ellerton opened the subject of the mysterious author of Spoils, and this time her niece attempted no diversion.

"You must write to Miss Lamb soon," said the elder lady, beaming at her niece over a great dish of roses. "She will be so interested in everything."

Miss Lamb looked across at her aunt with a singular smile and said: "There is no use in writing to her, Aunt Bessie, I have reason to think she does not read my letters."


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 "Does not read your letters?" Aunt Bessie repeated, in an incredulous tone of voice, while John and I looked at each other. I don't know how he felt, but a cold shiver ran down my back. It is one thing to confess, and quite another thing to be found out.

John retained his self-possession and said: "The author of Spoils was resolved, long ago, to reveal his identity whenever the twentieth edition should be out. The twentieth edition was out yesterday."

"Then we may congratulate you now," said Miss Lamb, with a delicious turn of the head, and a brimming sort of smile. "I have long wanted to."

This time John flushed, and Mrs. Ellerton looked more mystified than ever.

"What is it all about, Lilian?" she asked." Are you in the secret?"

"Yes, Aunt Bessie. I have been in the secret for more than three weeks. Is it possible that you did not recognize Mr. Brunt's description that first evening?


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 You said yourself that it was strangely unlike a middle-aged authoress."

The champagne had just been served, and without waiting for explanations I proposed a toast.

Within, the roses and the candle-light and the sparkling wine adorned the feast, but it was of Pike's Peak I was thinking,—of Pike's Peak wrapped in snow, towering big and benignant in the starlight, as we gaily drank to the health of "the two Lilians."


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Page:Jay Lovestone - What's What About Coolidge.pdf/1

Rh


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text: Author:George Thompson Hare

title: Author:George Thompson Hare


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text: What's What—About Coolidge?

title: What's What—About Coolidge?


text: What's What—About Coolidge?/Chapter 1

title: What's What—About Coolidge?/Chapter 1


text:
Author:Debebow Zelelie

Works

 * Amharic Basic Course (1964)

title: Author:Debebow Zelelie


text: A Literary Courtship

title: A Literary Courtship


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 1

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 1


text: What's What—About Coolidge?/Chapter 2

title: What's What—About Coolidge?/Chapter 2


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 2

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 2


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 3

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 3


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 4

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 4


text: What's What—About Coolidge?/Chapter 3

title: What's What—About Coolidge?/Chapter 3


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 5

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 5


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 6

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 6


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 7

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 7


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 8

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 8


text:
Author:Mulugeta Andualem

Works

 * Amharic Basic Course (1964)

title: Author:Mulugeta Andualem


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 9

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 9


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 10

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 10


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 11

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 11


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 12

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 12


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 13

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 13


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 14

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 14


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 15

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 15


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 16

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 16


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 17

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 17


text: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 18

title: A Literary Courtship/Chapter 18


text:
Executive Order No. 464 (Arroyo)

the Constitution guarantees the separation of powers of the Executive, Legislative and Judicial branches of the government;

Article VI, Section 22 of the Constitution provides that heads of departments may, with the prior consent of the President, appear before and be heard by either House of Congress on any matter pertaining to their departments and, when the security of the State or the public interest so requires and the President so states in writing, such appearance shall be conducted in executive session;

pursuant to the rule of executive privilege, the President and those who assist her must be free to explore alternatives in the process of shaping policies and making decisions since this is fundamental to the operation of the government and is rooted in the separation of powers under the Constitution;

, Article VI, Section 21 of the Constitution mandates that the rights of persons appearing in or affected by inquiries in aid of legislation by the Senate or House of Representatives shall be respected;

, recent events, particularly with respect to the invitation of a member of the Cabinet by the Senate as well as various heads of offices, civilian and military, have highlighted the need to ensure the observance of the principle of separation of powers, adherence to the rule on executive privilege and respect for the rights of persons appearing in such inquiries in aid of legislation and due regard to constitutional mandate;

, there is a need to prevent such inquires in aid of legislation from being used for partisan political purposes, disrupting diplomatic relations with foreign governments, and weakening the stability of the State, thereby impeding the efforts of the government to generate and attract foreign investments;

, Republic Act No. 6713 or the Code of Conduct and Ethical Standards for Public Officials and Employees provides that public officials and employees shall not use or divulge confidential or classified information officially known to them by reason of their office and not made available to the public to prejudice the public interest;

, Article 229 of the Revised Penal Code prohibits any public officer from revealing any secret known to him by reason of his official capacity or wrongfully delivering papers or copies thereof which he may have charge and which should not be published;

, the 1987 Constitution and the Administrative Code of 1987 provide that the President shall have control of all government departments, bureaus and offices and shall ensure that all the laws be faithfully executed.

President of the Republic of the Philippines, by the powers vested in me by law, do hereby order:

'Appearance by Heads of Departments Before Congress. —' In accordance with Article VI, Section 22 of the Constitution and to implement the Constitutional provisions on separation of powers between co-equal branches of the government, all heads of departments of the Executive Branch of the government shall secure the consent of the President prior to appearing before either House of Congress.

When the security of the State or the public interest so requires and the President so states in writing, the appearance shall only be conducted in executive session.

Nature, Scope and Coverage of Executive Privilege.

'(a) Nature and Scope. — The rule of confidentiality based on executive privilege is fundamental to the operation of government and rooted in the separation of powers under the Constitution (Almonte vs. Vasquez', G.R. No. 95367, 23 May 1995). Further, Republic Act No. 6713 or the Code of Conduct and Ethical Standards for Public Officials and Employees provides that public officials and employees shall not use or divulge confidential or classified information officially known to them by reason of their office and not made available to the public to prejudice the public interest.

Executive privilege covers all confidential or classified information between the President and the public officers covered by this executive order, including:

(i) Conversations and correspondence between the President and the public officials covered by this executive order (Almonte vs. Vasquez, G.R. No. 95367, 23 May 1995; Chavez v. Public Estates Authority, G.R. No. 133250, 9 July 2002);

(ii) Military, diplomatic and other national security matters which in the interest of national security should not be divulged (Almonte vs. Vasquez, G.R. No. 95367, 23 May 1995; Chavez v. Presidential Commission on Good Government, G.R. No. 130716, 9 December 1998);

(iii) Information between inter-government agencies prior to the conclusion of treaties and executive agreements (Chavez v. Presidential Commission on Good Government, G.R. No. 130716, 9 December 1998);

(iv) Discussion in closed-door Cabinet meetings (Chavez v. Presidential Commission on Good Government, G.R. No. 130716, 9 December 1998);

(v) Matters affecting national security and public order (Chavez v. Public Estates Authority, G.R. No. 133250, 9 July 2002).

(b) 'Who are covered. —' The following are covered by this executive order:

(i) Senior officials of executive departments who in the judgment of the department heads are covered by the executive privilege;

(ii) Generals and flag officers of the Armed Forces of the Philippines and such other officers who in the judgment of the Chief of Staff are covered by the executive privilege;

(iii) Philippine National Police (PNP) officers with rank of chief superintendent or higher and such other officers who in the judgment of the Chief of the PNP are covered by the executive privilege;

(iv) Senior national security officials who in the judgment of the National Security Adviser are covered by the executive privilege; and

(v) Such other officers as may be determined by the President.

'Appearance of Other Public Officials Before Congress. —' All public officials enumerated in Section 2 (b) hereof shall secure prior consent of the President prior to appearing before either House of Congress to ensure the observance of the principle of separation of powers, adherence to the rule on executive privilege and respect for the rights of public officials appearing in inquiries in aid of legislation.

'Repealing Clause. —' All executive issuances, orders, rules and regulations or parts thereof inconsistent with the provisions of this Executive Order are hereby repealed or modified accordingly.

'Separability Clause. —' If any section or provision of this executive order shall be declared unconstitutional or invalid, the other sections or provisions not affected thereby shall remain in full force and effect.

'Effectivity. —' This Executive Order shall take effect immediately.

in the City of Manila, this 28th day of September in the Year of Our Lord, Two Thousand and Five.

Rh

By the President:

Rh

title: Executive Order No. 464 (Arroyo)


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Page:Journal of the Straits Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society (IA journalofstrait781881roya).pdf/101

 prices, &c. In preparing himself also for the practice of English law (he having been trained in Scotland), I did not fail to notice with astonishment the intense continued application he gave to the contents of huge tomes, which, to me, were as "dry as dust" and as indigestible as sand.

During my residence at Penang, which continued for over three years—in 1838 to 1841—he was a frequent visitor to my solitary bungalow situated in the interior. His company was never more charming than on such occasions. Making but few friends in society, and being of a particularly retiring disposition, he seemed to reserve an overfull share of his attractions for those that could heartily sympathise with him in old fellowship. I remember particularly one occasion when I asked him to join me in an expedition to the interior of Sabrang Prye. Exploring the sources of the Junjong Idup, probably now covered with cultivation, but, at that time, ander primitive forests, waste and unoccupied, except by the tiger or the jakun, we wore detained for three days by a constant downpour and flooded rivers, having taken refuge in a deserted pondoh. Here his versatile talent came to our aid in wiling away the long, dark, dreary hours, whose melancholy aud tedious, was enhanced by the wail of the unku. I never heard Shakespeare read with greater effect, vigour, or thorough appreciation.

Even in those his very young years, I found him a safe councillor and adviser in matters important to myself, where a false step might have been irretrievable. In my heart I was thankful to him for this. We met again at Singapore in 1843-4, where his elder brother had joined me in my own house as chum. A falling off in practice at Penang made a change advisable for the younger also, and with us he took up his residence.

For several years, the busy practice of his profession seemed to engage his whole attention, but early in 1847 I had an indication of coming events; not that there had not been abundant indications before this, for while he conducted the Gazette at Penang he drew out originality and latent talent from many of the residents—European and Asiatic—which that paper had never shown before, and he himself illuminated it with many powerful leaders.

The occasion of this direct indication occurred when he had preceded me to Malacca on law business. I had followed in the gun-


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Chinese Interference in UK Academia over UK universities by threatening to withdraw scholarships or funding for Chinese nationals in the UK". ***.

Indeed, in some cases, China does not even have to issue a threat. Professor Steve Tsang (Director of the China Institute at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS))—who is known for being willing to challenge the CCP's narrative—told the Committee that institutions were actively avoiding taking action themselves for fear of upsetting the Chinese: he had been asked by *** the University of Nottingham not to accept any media requests during the visit of President Xi Jinping to the UK in 2015, for fear of causing offence to the Chinese.

In terms of exerting control and influence, China does not just rely on the leverage that its student fees buy it; it also provides direct investment to academic institutions so that it can guarantee input into academic programmes, direct research (discussed later in this Case Study) and ensure that UK students are taught an interpretation of China that reflects the CCP's interests. The latter is primarily conducted through the Confucius Institutes in the UK.

There are 29 Confucius Institutes in the UK, with more than 160,000 registered students (not all of whom will be Chinese). They carry out entirely legitimate activities, such as fostering cultural ties and providing language teaching. However, they have also been accused of stifling academic debate about sensitive issues, such as Tibet. Confucius Institutes are run, and part-funded, by the Hanban, an educational organisation that is ultimately controlled by the CCP's Central Propaganda Department—an association that means that comparisons with the British Council or the Institut Français are misleading at best. The Hanban's charter stipulates that Confucius Institutes must obey Chinese law.

Confucius Institutes often occupy premises on university campuses free of charge, and some also provide funding to the university with which they are associated, meaning that the line between the institutions can become blurred. For example, it has previously been reported that the Nottingham University School of Contemporary Chinese Studies received money from the university's Confucius Institute to fund core academic activities—thereby giving it influence over who came to speak at the university on Chinese issues.

The Intelligence Community assess that Confucius Institutes are utilised by the Chinese government in order to dissuade universities from engaging in debates that the CCP considers to be unsuitable topics. The Joint Intelligence Committee (JIC) Chair told us in October 2020 that the operations of Confucius Institutes were primarily concerning for their role in intimidation:

"The Confucius Institutes, I would say, are more of an instrument for pursuing that and at one level, if one takes it as a purely cultural issue, one could equate it with the British Council, but of course nothing in China is that simple and they are undoubtedly following a government line."

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CHINA

China not only seeks influence at an institutional level but will also target individual academics who focus on China, seeking to ensure that they act in the CCP's best interests either through professional inducements or, if that doesn't work, by intimidation.

China appears prepared to use levers, such as research funding and travel opportunities, to cultivate relationships with academics, and to encourage them to change their research direction or course content in line with CCP objectives. We heard from the External Experts that this can be very direct—Professor Steve Tsang told us that, within six months of him taking up a new appointment at SOAS, a political counsellor from the Chinese embassy approached him, offering him anything he wanted in an attempt to curry favour: "It is as blatant as that."

If positive incentives do not work, the Chinese government is willing to apply pressure in other ways. The JIC Chair told us that they were aware of:

"examples of intimidation, in different ways, sometimes with the Vice Chancellor getting a phone call, sometimes at student body level, to try to discourage universities from allowing speakers on issues like Tibet or Xinjiang."

Lord Patten told the Foreign Affairs Committee that, when, in the early days of his tenure as Chancellor of the University of Oxford, the Dalai Lama was invited to speak by the university's Buddhist Society, "within 48 hours I had the then-Chinese ambassador on the phone saying, 'This is a disgraceful insult to the People's Republic of China', and so on". He refused to intervene. On a different occasion, the Vice Chancellor of the University of Oxford was asked by the Chinese embassy to prevent Lord Patten from visiting Hong Kong; she also refused.

Chinese visas are also used as leverage. Professor Tsang stated: "Research for academics entering China is weaponised. You say something that they don't like, they deny you a visa." As visas are essential to the academic research of many UK-based China scholars, this makes them a powerful lever that can be used to deter criticism of the CCP and its policies. In October 2020, the Chief of SIS told the Committee:

"If you are an academic and you are specialising in China, and your entire academic life is focused on China, the threat of not allowing you to travel to the country of your academic [focus] is a very powerful threat."

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Chinese Interference in UK Academia

China also seeks to monitor and control Chinese students' behaviour—primarily via the network of Chinese Students and Scholars Associations (CSSAs). There are reportedly more than 90 CSSAs in the UK, all based at universities, and they are actively supported—and at least partly financed—by the Chinese embassy. The CSSAS ostensibly exist to look after the interests of Chinese students in the UK, organising cultural activities for Chinese and non-Chinese students, and providing practical advice to Chinese students on living and studying in the host country. However, CSSAS are—along with Confucius Institutes—assessed to be used by the Chinese state to monitor Chinese students overseas and to exert influence over their behaviour. Professor Steve Tsang told the Committee:

"The student bodies are infiltrated … We know that … there are meetings that happen through the middle of the night and the following morning some Chinese students can get rung up by somebody at the cultural or education section of the embassy to ask them: why did you say that? Why did you do that?"

This would appear to be resulting in a culture of fear and suspicion among Chinese students in the UK. According to Professor Tsang, "we are seeing that … in the class where there is only one Chinese student, that Chinese student usually engages in discussions and debates much more openly than in a class that has quite a few Chinese, [where] they don't know who [if anyone] is going to report on them". The protests in Hong Kong, and subsequent demonstrations in support of the protesters by some ethnic Chinese students in the UK, have brought to the fore the pressure exerted on Chinese students in the UK by the Chinese embassy and CSSAS.

Examples of such behaviour have been reported throughout the Western world over the past decade, but awareness of the issue has increased in recent years. The perception that the Chinese government is interfering with academic freedom across the world—including through surveillance of its own students overseas via Confucius Institutes, CSSAS and other means—is such that, in 2019, the non-governmental organisation (NGO) Human Rights Watch issued a Code of Conduct to help universities protect themselves against Chinese academic interference, the Code called for the rejection of Confucius Institutes and restrictions on CSSAS.

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 newed. Everywhere, upon the tops of trees, upon the steeples of churches, human beings were clustered, praying to God for mercy, and to their fellowmen for assistance. As the storm at last was subsiding, boats began to ply in every direction, saving those who were struggling in the water, picking fugitives from roofs and tree tops, and collecting the bodies of those already drowned.' No less than one hundred thousand human beings had perished in a few hours. Thousands upon thousands of dumb creatures lay dead upon the waters; and the damage done to property of every description was beyond calculation.

Robles, the Spanish Governor, was foremost in noble efforts to save life and lessen the horrors of the catastrophe. He had formerly been hated by the Dutch because of his Spanish or Portuguese blood, but by his goodness and activity in their hour of disaster, he won all hearts to gratitude. He soon introduced an improved method of constructing the dykes, and passed a law that they should in future be kept up by the owners of the soil. There were fewer heavy floods from this time, though within less than three hundred years six fearful inundations swept over the land.

In the Spring there is always great danger of inland freshets, especially in times of thaw, because the rivers, choked with blocks of ice, overflow before they can discharge their rapidly rising waters into the ocean. Added to this, the sea chafing and pressing against the dykes, it is no wonder that Holland is often in a state of alarm. The greatest care is taken to prevent accidents. Engineers and workmen are stationed all along in threatened places, and a close watch is kept up


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CHINA However, other universities seem to be turning a blind eye to the risk: for example, the University of Surrey received a £7.5m 'donation' to its 5G/6G Innovation Centre from Huawei which it described as a 'key partner' that the university would continue to do research with "unless there were clear and compelling reasons not to do so".

RR. In its quest for economic advantage, China often acts in plain sight—directing, funding and collaborating on academic research for its own ends. In particular, it seeks to benefit the Chinese military through research on dual-use technologies, which is often unclassified in its early stages. There is a question as to whether academic institutions are alive to the threat posed by such collaboration, particularly given that they often accept transfer of Information Data and Intellectual Property as a condition of funding. While some have expressed concern, others seem to be turning a blind eye, happy simply to take the money.

SS. The UK Government must ensure that transparency around the source of foreign donations to Higher Education institutions is improved: a public register of donations must be created by the Department for Education and monitored by the State Threats Unit in the Home Office.

TT. Academia is also an 'easy option' when it comes to the theft of Intellectual Property, by taking advantage of collaborative projects to steal information which is less protected than it might be in the private sector or the Ministry of Defence, for example. The vast number of Chinese students—particularly post-graduates—in academic institutions in the UK that are involved in cutting-edge research must therefore raise concerns, given the access and opportunities they are afforded.

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Chinese Interference in UK Academia However, concerns have been raised that this collaboration could be used to develop China's military capabilities. A 2021 Civitas report into Chinese military exploitation of scientific research at UK universities highlighted this collaboration between BIAM and the University of Manchester. The report noted that BIAM was working in parallel to develop graphene for a range of uses, and that Chinese reports suggested that China's Z-10 attack helicopter had been equipped with graphene armour that may have been developed at BIAM.

The University of Manchester has also acknowledged the potential dual-use of research jointly with other Chinese universities—for instance, collaboration between researchers at the University of Manchester and at Central South University China led to the creation of a new kind of ceramic coating that could "revolutionise hypersonic travel for air, space and defence purposes".

***.

It appears that any collaboration between a UK research institution and a Chinese institution will very probably be used to benefit China's military. By way of example, the case of Huang Xianjun was publicised by the Australian Strategic Policy Institute. After completing his PhD at the University of Manchester, working with the discoverers of graphene, Huang is now a researcher at China's National University of Defence Technology, working on key defence projects for the People's Liberation Army. ***.

There is a question as to whether academic institutions are sufficiently alive to this threat—particularly given that academic institutions will often accept the transfer of Information Data and IP as a condition of funding. The JIC Chair told the Committee in October 2020 that the Intelligence Community have significant concerns about research partnerships where universities may "unwisely not recognise who they are actually dealing with and the sensitivity of information which may be being transferred as a result".

Some universities clearly are aware of the threat posed by collaboration: the University of Cambridge has expressed concern that its science and technology research projects are being exposed to espionage via the university's collaborative projects with, and investment from, Huawei. They are particularly concerned about exposing 'high-risk' projects that require additional layers of vetting—for example, research collaboration with Rolls-Royce on aerospace technology.

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 something of the nature of conscience—has suddenly jerked back the memory of that beer I drank at Hospenthal, and puts an accusing finger on the memory.

I never have had a pet animal, I confess, though I have been fairly popular with kittens. But with regard to a certain petting of myself?

Perhaps I was premature about that beer. I have had no pet animals, but I perceive if the Modern Utopia is going to demand the sacrifice of the love of animals, which is, in its way, a very fine thing indeed, so much the more readily may it demand the sacrifice of many other indulgences, some of which are not even fine in the lowest degree.

It is curious this haunting insistence upon sacrifice and discipline!

It is slowly becoming my dominant thought that the sort of people whose will this Utopia embodies must be people a little heedless of small pleasures. You cannot focus all good things at the same time. That is my chief discovery in these meditations at Lucerne. Much of the rest of this Utopia I had in a sort of way anticipated, but not this. I wonder if I shall see my Utopian self for long and be able to talk to him freely

We lie in the petal-strewn grass under some Judas trees beside the lake shore, as I meander among these thoughts, and each of us, disregardful of his companion, follows his own associations.

"Very remarkable," I say, discovering that the botanist has come to an end with his story of that Frognal dog.

"You'd wonder how he knew," he says.


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 night and day. When a general signal of danger is given, the inhabitants all rush to the rescue, eager to combine against their common foe. As, everywhere else straw is supposed to be of all things the most helpless in the water, of course in Holland it must be rendered the main stay against a rushing tide. Huge straw mats are pressed against the embankments, fortified with clay and heavy stone, and once adjusted, the ocean dashes against them in vain.

Raff Brinker, the father of Gretel and Hans, had for years been employed upon the dykes. It was at the time of a threatened inundation, when in the midst of a terrible storm, in darkness and sleet, the men were laboring at a weak spot near the Veermyk sluice, that he fell from the scaffolding, and was taken home insensible. From that hour he never worked again; though ho lived on, mind and memory were gone.

Gretel could not remember him otherwise than as the strange, silent man, whose eyes followed her vacantly whichever way she turned; but Hans had recollections of a hearty, cheerful-voiced father who was never tired of bearing him upon his shoulder, and whose careless song still seemed echoing near when he lay awake at night and listened.