Winston had toiled hard during those years, partly from a natural liking, partly to forget his heartaches.  Feverishly he had taken up the tasks confronting him, sinking self in the thought of other things.  Such work had conquered success, for he did his part in subjecting nature to man, thus winning a reputation already ranking him high among the mining experts of the West.  His had become a name to conjure with in the mountains and mining camps.  During the long months he had hoped fiercely.  Yet he had made no endeavor to seek her out, or to uncover her secret.  Deep within his heart lay a respect for her choice, and he would have held it almost a crime to invade the privacy that her continued silence had created.  So he resolutely locked the secret within his own soul, becoming more quiet in manner, more reserved in speech, with every long month of waiting, constantly striving to forget the past amid a multitude of business and professional cares.

It was at the close of a winter’s day in Chicago.  Snow clouds were scurrying in from over the dun-colored waters of the lake, bringing with them an early twilight.  Already myriads of lights were twinkling in the high office buildings, and showing brilliant above the smooth asphalt of Michigan Avenue.  The endless stream of vehicles homeward bound began to thicken, the broad highway became a scene of continuous motion and display.  After hastily consulting the ponderous pages of a city directory in an adjacent drug store, a young man, attired in dark business suit, his broad shoulders those of an athlete, his face strongly marked and full of character, and bronzed even at this season by out-of-door living, hurried across the street and entered the busy doorway of the Railway Exchange Building.  On the seventh floor he unceremoniously flung open a door bearing the number sought, and stepped within to confront the office boy, who as instantly frowned his disapproval.

“Office hours over,” the latter announced shortly.  “Just shuttin’ up.”

“I am not here on business, my lad,” was the good-natured reply, “but in the hope of catching Mr. Craig before he got away.”

The boy, still somewhat doubtful, jerked his hand back across his shoulder toward an inner apartment.

“Well, his nibs is in there, but he ’s just a-goin’.”

The visitor swung aside the gate and entered.  The man within, engaged in closing down his roll-top desk for the day, wheeled about in his chair, quite evidently annoyed by so late a caller.  An instant he looked at the face, partially shadowed in the dim light, then sprang to his feet, both hands cordially extended.