At the supper table that evening, the diamond ring appeared, flashing on the white, shapely hand of Leslie Gladden, and she herself looked radiantly beautiful.
After the meal was over, Morgan, who was still pale and haggard, and had been very silent at the table, pulled his hat down over his eyes, and started down the road.
“Morgan,” called Houston, “where are you going?”
“I dun’no,” he answered moodily, “down to the Y, I guess, by and by.”
“Well, hold on a minute, I will walk down with you a ways; I want to see you.”
“All right,” responded Morgan, walking on very slowly.
Houston hastily excused himself to Miss Gladden and Van Dorn, and hurrying after Morgan, soon overtook him. For some time, Houston talked with him regarding the work for the next day, and the men who could best be detailed to help Van Dorn. They had reached the same spot where they had stopped to talk a few nights before, and, as then, were seated on the rocks. At last, the business arrangements were all completed, and Morgan made a move as if to start, and then Houston’s real errand in overtaking him became apparent.
“Morgan, you are not fit to be out to-night, you must have rest, you will break down living this way.”
“Yes,” said Morgan, raising his hollow, heavy eyes to Houston’s face, “I’m about done up, that’s a fact.”
“I wouldn’t go to the Y to-night, if I were you; come back to the house and get a good night’s rest, it will make a different man of you.”