It was with a sinking heart she glanced down across the roofs of the city into the busy streets where already the big lights were blinking, and remembered all she had borne with there during the last few days.  Somebody, it seemed, had industriously spread the story of her dismissal, and a refusal had followed every application she made for employment; but while that alone was sufficient to cause her consternation, the half-contemptuous pity of her former companions, and the fashion in which one or two of them had avoided her, were almost worse to bear, and sitting alone in the gathering darkness the girl flushed crimson at the memory.  There was also the grim question by what means she could stave off actual want to grapple with, and to that she could as yet find no answer, while her eyes grew dim as she glanced about the little room.  Townshead had changed his quarters, and many of the trifles that caught his daughter’s glance had cost her a meal or hours of labour with the needle after a long day in the city, but they made the place a home, and she knew what it would cost her to part with them.

Twice she had raised her head and straightened herself with an effort, while a flicker of pride and resolution crept into her eyes, only to sink back again limply in her chair, when there was a tapping at the door, and she rose as some one came into the room.  Then she set her lips and stood up very straight as she saw that it was Alton.

“I could find nobody about, and there was no answer when I knocked,” he said.  “So I just came in.”

The girl moved a little so that she could see his face in the light from the stove, and it was quietly stern, but the movement had served two purposes, for her own was now invisible.

“And you fancied you could dispense with common courtesy in my case?” she said.

Alton made a little grave gesture of deprecation.  “I wanted to see you—­very much—­but please sit down.”

Nellie Townshead took the chair he drew out, and was glad that it was in the shadow, for Alton stood leaning against the window-casing looking down on her with grave respect and pity in his face.

“I am a little lame—­as you may have heard,” he said, as though to explain his attitude.

“Yes,” said the girl, whose composure returned as she saw that he was temporizing.  “I am sorry.”

“Well,” said Alton quietly, “so am I—­especially just now—­but I did not come to talk to you about my injury.”

Nellie Townshead appeared very collected as she glanced in his direction, for she had a good courage, and had been taught already that when an issue is unavoidable it is better to face it boldly.

“One would scarcely have fancied that was your object.”

“No,” said Alton very quietly.  “Now I am just a plain bush rancher, and don’t know how to put things nicely, but I don’t know that there’s any disrespect in a straight question, and I came to ask if you would marry me.”