Indeed, Donnegan began to feel that all his labor in The Corner had been running on a treadmill.  It had all been grouped about the main purpose, which was to keep Landis with the girl.  To do that now he must be prepared to face Nick again; and to face Nick meant the bringing of the guilt of fratricide upon the head of one of them.  There only remained flight.  He saw at last that he had been fighting blindly from the first.  He had won a girl whom he did not love—­though doubtless her liking was only the most fickle fancy.  And she for whom he would have died he had taught to hate him.  It was a grim summing up.  Donnegan walked the room whistling softly to himself as he checked up his accounts.

One thing at least he had done; he had taken the joy out of his life forever.

And here, answering a rap at the door, he opened it upon Lou Macon.  She wore a dress of some very soft material.  It was a pale blue—­faded, no doubt—­but the color blended exquisitely with her hair and with the flush of her face.  It came to Donnegan that it was an unnecessary cruelty of chance that made him see the girl lovelier than he had ever seen her before at the very moment when he was surrendering the last shadow of a claim upon her.

And it hurt him, also, to see the freshness of her face, the clear eyes; and to hear her smooth, untroubled voice.  She had lived untouched by anything save the sunshine in The Corner.

Her glance flicked across his face and then fluttered down, and her color increased guiltily.

“I have come to ask you a favor,” she said.

“Step in,” said Donnegan, recovering his poise at length.

At this, she looked past him, and her eyes widened a little.  There was an imperceptible shrug of her shoulders, as though the very thought of entering this cabin horrified her.  And Donnegan had to bear that look as well.

“I’ll stay here; I haven’t much to say.  It’s a small thing.”

“Large or small,” said Donnegan eagerly.  “Tell me!”

“My father has asked me to take a letter for him down to the town and mail it.  I—­I understand that it would be dangerous for me to go alone.  Will you walk with me?”

And Donnegan turned cold.  Go down into The Corner?  Where by five chances out of ten he must meet his brother in the street?

“I can do better still,” he said, smiling.  “I’ll have George take the letter down for you.”

“Thank you.  But you see, father would not trust it to anyone save me.  I asked him; he was very firm about it.”

“Tush!  I would trust George with my life.”

“Yes, yes It is not what I wish—­but my father rarely changes his mind.”

Perspiration beaded the forehead of Donnegan.  Was there no way to evade this easy request?

“You see,” he faltered, “I should be glad to go—­”

She raised her eyes slowly.

“But I am terribly busy this morning.”