She unlocked it, entered the small clean stateroom and deposited her bundle on the floor.

With just a glance at her quarters she hurried to the opposite door--the one giving upon the promenade.

She opened it, stepped out, crossed the deserted deck and stood at the rail.
The _General Lytle_ was drawing slowly away from the wharf-boat.
As that part of the promenade happened to be sheltered from the steamer's lights, she was seeing the panorama of Sutherland--its long stretch of shaded waterfront, its cupolas and steeples, the wide leafy streets leading straight from the river by a gentle slope to the base of the dark towering bluffs behind the town--all sleeping in peace and beauty in the soft light of the moon.

That farthest cupola to the left--it was the Number Two engine house, and the third place from it was her uncle's house.
Slowly the steamer, now in mid-stream, drew away from the town.
One by one the familiar landmarks--the packing house, the soap factory, the Geiss brewery, the tall chimney of the pumping station, the shorn top of Reservoir Hill--slipped ghostlily away to the southwest.

The sobs choked up into her throat and the tears rained from her eyes.