"Adios, amigo."
Bravely she stood watching until the carriage disappeared down the street. Then she went slowly into the house to Abe's room.
The surveyor lay propped up in bed with pillows, looking quite cheerful. "Well, sister," was his greeting; "you have lost one patient and you are going to lose the other one before long. I feel like a new man already."
For a little she made no answer and, as she stood before him silent, those eyes that were trained to let nothing escape their notice studied her face and noted her hands clasped in nervous pain. "Why, Barbara! What is it, sister? What has gone wrong?"
At his words the brown eyes filled.
"Barbara!"
She dropped into the chair by the bedside and, throwing herself toward him, buried her face in her arms in the pillow by his side, her form shaking with sobs.
The surveyor's face was white now under its bronze—white and set. Lightly he placed his hand upon the soft brown hair so near his shoulder and his eyes seemed now to be looking far away. When her grief had spent itself a little he said quietly: "Don't you think, sister, that you had better tell me about this?"
When she did not answer he said again gently: "Do you care for him so much, Barbara?"
The brown head nodded her confession and for a moment the man closed his eyes and turned away his face. Then: "Won't you let me help you?"