son came wandering down the aisle of the car and caught sight of him.
"Why, Farrar," exclaimed Barry, "I didn't know you were on the train! Come into the Pullman with me."
"No, thank you! I change at the junction, but I'd be glad to have you sit with me for a while."
Barry needed no second invitation. He dropped into the aisle end of the seat; but when he had settled himself comfortably he had nothing to say. If the rector's face gave evidence of the shock and strain he had undergone, Barry's countenance and manner were still more indicative of the intense suffering he had endured.
"You're going to New York?" asked the rector, finally.
"Yes. It doesn't matter much. But that seems to be the obvious place. If I get tired of it there I'll come back in a day or two, and go west. I think maybe a taste of ranch life might help some. But I can't stay here. You know, Farrar, that's impossible."
"I understand. I too must leave the city. Conditions here make it imperative."
"And where will you go?"
"God knows! I have no plans."
Barry looked at his companion pityingly. In the midst of his own grief he had a heart of sympathy for the defeated and despairing rector. For a few moments there was silence between them. Then Barry spoke up again.
"You know, Farrar, this thing has left me in a whirl. I feel as though I were still whirling. I try to stop, and get out of it, and get my head, but I can't. There's so much about it all that I don't understand."
"I don't wonder. The whole thing is a terrible mystery."
"Not that I'm blaming her, you know. I couldn't do that. She wasn't to blame for anything. Why, do you know, I never even blamed her for being fond of
