The Man of the Desert

BY GRACE LIVINGSTON HILL

 AUTHOR OF MARCIA SCHUYLER, PHOEBE DEANE, DAWN OF THE MORNING, LO, MICHAEL, ETC. 

[Illustration]

 GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Made in the United States of America

 Copyright, 1914, by FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY

 New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 125 North Wabash Ave. Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W. London: 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street

Contents

 I. PROSPECTING 9

 II. THE MAN 24

 III. THE DESERT 43

 IV. THE QUEST 64

 V. THE TRAIL 86

 VI. CAMP 101

 VII. REVELATION 116

 VIII. RENUNCIATION 130

 IX. "FOR REMEMBRANCE" 148

 X. HIS MOTHER 162

 XI. REFUGE 180

 XII. QUALIFYING FOR SERVICE 197

 XIII. THE CALL OF THE DESERT 218

 XIV. HOME 232

 XV. THE WAY OF THE CROSS 253

 XVI. THE LETTER 267

 XVII. DEDICATION 284

I

PROSPECTING

It was morning, high and clear as Arizona counts weather, and around thelittle railroad station were gathered a crowd of curious onlookers;seven Indians, three women from nearby shacks--drawn thither by thesight of the great private car that the night express had left on a sidetrack--the usual number of loungers, a swarm of children, besides thestation agent who had come out to watch proceedings. 

All the morning the private car had been an object of deep interest tothose who lived within sight, and that was everybody on the plateau; andmany and various had been the errands and excuses to go to the stationthat perchance the occupants of that car might be seen, or a glimpse ofthe interior of the moving palace; but the silken curtains had remaineddrawn until after nine o'clock. 

Within the last half hour, however, a change had taken place in thesilent inscrutable car. The curtains had parted here and there, revealing dim flitting faces, a table spread with a snowy cloth andflowers in a vase, wild flowers they were, too, like those that grew allalong the track, just weeds. Strange that one who could afford a privatecar cared for weeds in a glass on their dining-table, but then perhapsthey didn't know. 

A fat cook with ebony skin and white linen attire had appeared on therear platform beating eggs, and half whistling, half singing:

 "Be my little baby Bumble-bee-- Buzz around, buzz around----"

He seemed in no wise affected or embarrassed by the natives whogradually encircled the end of the car, and the audience grew. 

They could dimly see the table where the inmates of the carwere--dining?--it couldn't be breakfast at that hour surely. They heardthe discussion about horses going on amid laughter and merryconversation, and they gathered that the car was to remain here for theday at least while some of the party went off on a horseback trip. Itwas nothing very unusual of course. Such things occasionally occurred inthat region, but not often enough to lose their interest. Besides, towatch the tourists who chanced to stop in their tiny settlement was theonly way for them to learn the fashions. 

Not that all the watchers stood and stared around the car. No, indeed. They made their headquarters around the station platform from whencethey took brief and comprehensive excursions down to the freight stationand back, going always on one side of the car and returning by way ofthe other. Even the station agent felt the importance of the occasion, and stood around with all the self-consciousness of an usher at a grandwedding, considering himself master of ceremonies. 

"Sure! They come from the East last night. Limited dropped 'em! Goingdown to prospect some mine, I reckon. They ordered horses an' a outfit, and Shag Bunce is goin' with 'em. He got a letter 'bout a week agotellin' what they wanted of him. Yes, I knowed all about it. He brungthe letter to me to cipher out fer him. You know Shag ain't no great atreadin' ef he is the best judge of a mine anywheres about. "

Thus the station agent explained in low thrilling tones; and even theIndians watched and grunted their interest. 

At eleven o'clock the horses arrived, four besides Shag's, and the restof the outfit. The onlookers regarded Shag with the mournful interestdue to the undertaker at a funeral. Shag felt it and acted accordingly. He gave short, gruff orders to his men; called attention to straps andbuckles that every one knew were in as perfect order as they could be;criticized the horses and his men; and every one, even the horses, boreit with perfect composure. They were all showing off and felt theimportance of the moment. 

Presently the car door opened and Mr. Radcliffe came out on the platformaccompanied by his son--a handsome reckless looking fellow--his daughterHazel, and Mr. Hamar, a thick-set, heavy-featured man with dark hair, jaunty black moustache and handsome black eyes. In the background stoodan erect elderly woman in tailor-made attire and with a severeexpression, Mr. Radcliffe's elder sister who was taking the trip withthem expecting to remain in California with her son; and behind herhovered Hazel's maid. These two were not to be of the riding party, itappeared. 

There was a pleasant stir while the horses were brought forward and theriders were mounting. The spectators remained breathlessly unconsciousof anything save the scene being enacted before them. Their eyeslingered with special interest on the girl of the party. 

Miss Radcliffe was small and graceful, with a head set on her prettyshoulders like a flower on its stem. Moreover she was fair, so fair thatshe almost dazzled the eyes of the men and women accustomed to browncheeks kissed by the sun and wind of the plain. There was a wild-rosepink in her cheeks to enhance the whiteness, which made it but the moredazzling. She had masses of golden hair wreathed round her dainty headin a bewilderment of waves and braids. She had great dark eyes of blueset off by long curling lashes, and delicately pencilled dark browswhich gave the eyes a pansy softness and made you feel when she lookedat you that she meant a great deal more by the look than you had atfirst suspected. They were wonderful, beautiful eyes, and the littlecompany of idlers at the station were promptly bewitched by them. Moreover there was a fantastic little dimple in her right cheek thatflashed into view at the same time with the gleam of pearly teeth whenshe smiled. She certainly was a picture. The station looked its fill andrejoiced in her young beauty. 

She was garbed in a dark green riding habit, the same that she wore whenshe rode attended by her groom in Central Park. It made a sensationamong the onlookers, as did the little riding cap of dark green velvetand the pretty riding gloves. She sat her pony well, daintily, as thoughshe had alighted briefly, but to their eyes strangely, and not as thewomen out there rode. On the whole the station saw little else but thegirl; all the others were mere accessories to the picture. 

They noticed indeed that the young man, whose close cropped goldencurls, and dark lashed blue eyes were so like the girl's that he couldbe none other than her brother, rode beside the older man who waspresumably the father; and that the dark, handsome stranger rode awaybeside the girl. Not a man of them but resented it. Not a woman of thembut regretted it. 

Then Shag Bunce, with a parting word to his small but complete outfitthat rode behind, put spurs to his horse, lifted his sombrero in homageto the lady, and shot to the front of the line, his shaggy mane by whichcame his name floating over his shoulders. Out into the sunshine of aperfect day the riders went, and the group around the platform stoodsilently and watched until they were a speck in the distance blurringwith the sunny plain and occasional ash and cottonwood trees. 

"I seen the missionary go by early this mornin', " speculated the stationagent meditatively, deliberately, as though he only had a right to breakthe silence. "I wonder whar he could 'a' bin goin'. He passed on t'otherside the track er I'd 'a' ast 'im. He 'peared in a turrible hurry. Anybody sick over towards the canyon way?"

"Buck's papoose heap sick!" muttered an immobile Indian, and shuffledoff the platform with a stolid face. The women heaved a sigh ofdisappointment and turned to go. The show was out and they must returnto the monotony of their lives. They wondered what it would be like toride off like that into the sunshine with cheeks like roses and eyesthat saw nothing but pleasure ahead. What would a life like that be?Awed, speculative, they went back to their sturdy children and theirill-kempt houses, to sit in the sun on the door-steps and muse a while. 

Into the sunshine rode Hazel Radcliffe well content with the world, herself, and her escort. 

Milton Hamar was good company. He was keen of wit and a past-master inthe delicate art of flattery. That he was fabulously wealthy andpopular in New York society; that he was her father's friend bothsocially and financially, and had been much of late in their home onaccount of some vast mining enterprise in which both were interested;and that his wife was said to be uncongenial and always interested inother men rather than her husband, were all facts that combined to giveHazel a pleasant, half-romantic interest in the man by her side. She hadbeen conscious of a sense of satisfaction and pleasant anticipation whenher father told her that he was to be of their party. His wit andgallantry would make up for the necessity of having her Aunt Mariaalong. Aunt Maria was always a damper to anything she came near. She wasthe personification of propriety. She had tried to make Hazel think shemust remain in the car and rest that day instead of going off on a wildgoose chase after a mine. No lady did such things, she told her niece. 

Hazel's laugh rang out like the notes of a bird as the two rode slowlydown the trail, not hurrying, for there was plenty of time. They couldmeet the others on their way back if they did not get to the mine sosoon, and the morning was lovely. 

Milton Hamar could appreciate the beauties of nature now and then. Hecalled attention to the line of hills in the distance, and the sharpsteep peak of a mountain piercing the sunlight. Then skillfully he ledhis speech around to his companion, and showed how lovelier than themorning she was. 

He had been indulging in such delicate flattery since they first startedfrom New York, whenever the indefatigable aunt left them alone longenough, but this morning there was a note of something closer and moreintimate in his words; a warmth of tenderness that implied unspeakablejoy in her beauty, such as he had never dared to use before. Itflattered her pride deliciously. It was beautiful to be young andcharming and have a man say such things with a look like that in hiseyes--eyes that had suffered, and appealed to her to pity. With heryoung, innocent heart she did pity, and was glad she might solace hissadness a little while. 

With consummate skill the man led her to talk of himself, his hopes inyouth, his disappointments, his bitter sadness, his heart loneliness. Hesuddenly asked her to call him Milton, and the girl with rosy cheeks anddewy eyes declared shyly that she never could, it would seem so queer, but she finally compromised after much urging on "Cousin Milton. "

"That will do for a while, " he succumbed, smiling as he looked at herwith impatient eyes. Then with growing intimacy in his tones he laid adetaining hand upon hers that held the bridle, and the horses bothslackened their gait, though they had been far behind the rest of theparty for over an hour now. 

"Listen, little girl, " he said, "I'm going to open my heart to you. I'mgoing to tell you a secret. "

Hazel sat very still, half alarmed at his tone, not daring to withdrawher hand, for she felt the occasion was momentous and she must be readywith her sympathy as any true friend would be. Her heart swelled withpride that it was to her he came in his trouble. Then she looked up intothe face that was bending over hers, and she saw triumph, not trouble, in his eyes. Even then she did not understand. 

"What is it?" she asked trustingly. 

"Dear child!" said the man of the world impressively, "I knew you wouldbe interested. Well, I will tell you. I have told you of my sorrow, nowI will tell you of my joy. It is this: When I return to New York I shallbe a free man. Everything is complete at last. I have been granted adivorce from Ellen, and there remain only a few technicalities to beattended to. Then we shall be free to go our ways and do as we choose. "

"A divorce!" gasped Hazel appalled. "Not you--divorced!"

"Yes, " affirmed the happy man gaily, "I knew you'd be surprised. It'salmost too good to be true, isn't it, after all my trouble to get Ellento consent?"

"But she--your wife--where will she go? What will she do?" Hazel lookedup at him with troubled eyes, half bewildered with the thought. 

She did not realize that the horses had stopped and that he still heldher hand which grasped the bridle. 

"Oh, Ellen will be married at once, " he answered flippantly. "That's thereason she's consented at last. She's going to marry Walling Stacy, youknow, and from being stubborn about it, she's quite in a hurry to makeany arrangement to fix things up now. "

"She's going to be married!" gasped Hazel as if she had not heard ofsuch things often. Somehow it had never come quite so close to her listof friendships before and it shocked her inexpressibly. 

"Yes, she's going to be married at once, so you see there's no need tothink of her ever again. But why don't you ask me what I am going todo?"

"Oh, yes!" said Hazel recalling her lack of sympathy at once. "Youstartled me so. What are you going to do? You poor man--what can you do?Oh, I am so sorry for you!" and the pansy-eyes became suffused withtears. 

"No need to feel sorry for me, little one, " said the exultant voice, andhe looked at her now with an expression she had never seen in his facebefore. "I shall be happy as I have never dreamed of before, " he said. "I am going to be married too. I am going to marry some one who loves mewith all her heart, I am sure of that, though she has never told me so. I am going to marry you, little sweetheart!" He stooped suddenly beforeshe could take in the meaning of his words, and flinging his free armabout her pressed his lips upon hers. 

With a wild cry like some terrified creature Hazel tried to draw herselfaway, and finding herself held fast her quick anger rose and she liftedthe hand which held the whip and blindly slashed the air about her; hereyes closed, her heart swelling with horror and fear. A great repulsionfor the man whom hitherto she had regarded with deep respect surged overher. To get away from him at once was her greatest desire. She lashedout again with her whip, blindly, not seeing what she struck, almostbeside herself with wrath and fear. 

Hamar's horse reared and plunged, almost unseating his rider, and as hestruggled to keep his seat, having necessarily released the girl fromhis embrace, the second cut of the whip took him stingingly across theeyes, causing him to cry out with the pain. The horse reared again andsent him sprawling upon the ground, his hands to his face, his sensesone blank of pain for the moment. 

Hazel, knowing only that she was free, followed an instinct of fear andstruck her own pony on the flank, causing the little beast to turnsharply to right angles with the trail he had been following and dartlike a streak across the level plateau. Thereafter the girl had all shecould do to keep her seat. 

She had been wont to enjoy a run in the Park with her groom at safedistance behind her. She was proud of her ability to ride, and couldtake fences as well as her young brother; but a run like this across anillimitable space, on a creature of speed like the wind, goaded by fearand knowing the limitations of his rider, was a different matter. Theswift flight took her breath away, and unnerved her. She tried to holdon to the saddle with her shaking hands, for the bridle was alreadyflying loose to the breeze, but her hold seemed so slight that eachmoment she expected to find herself lying huddled on the plain with thepony far in the distance. 

Her lips grew white and cold; her breath came short and painfully; hereyes were strained with trying to look ahead at the constantly recedinghorizon. Was there no end? Would they never come to a human habitation?Would no one ever come to her rescue? How long could a pony stand a pacelike this? And how long could she hope to hold on to the furious flyingcreature?

Off to the right at last she thought she saw a building. It seemed hoursthey had been flying through space. In a second they were close by it. It was a cabin, standing alone upon the great plain with sage-brush inpatches about the door and a neat rail fence around it. 

She could see one window at the end, and a tiny chimney at the back. Could it be that any one lived in such a forlorn spot?

Summoning all her strength as they neared the spot she flung her voiceout in a wild appeal while the pony hurled on, but the wind caught thefeeble effort and flung it away into the vast spaces like a little tornworthless fragment of sound. 

Tears stung their way into her wide dry eyes. The last hairpin left itsmooring and slipped down to earth. The loosened golden hair streamedback on the wind like hands of despair wildly clutching for help, andthe jaunty green riding cap was snatched by the breeze and hung upon asage-bush not fifty feet from the cabin gate, but the pony rushed onwith the frightened girl still clinging to the saddle. 

II

THE MAN

About noon of the same day the missionary halted his horse on the edgeof a great flat-topped mesa and looked away to the clear blue mountainsin the distance. 

John Brownleigh had been in Arizona for nearly three years, yet thewonder of the desert had not ceased to charm him, and now as he stoppedhis horse to rest, his eyes sought the vast distances stretched in everydirection, and revelled in the splendour of the scene. 

Those mountains at which he was gazing were more than a hundred milesfrom him, and yet they stood out clear and distinct in the wonderfulair, and seemed but a short journey away. 

Below him were ledges of rock in marvellous colours, yellow and gray, crimson and green piled one upon another, with the strange light of thenoonday sun playing over them and turning their colours into a blaze ofglory. Beyond was a stretch of sand, broken here and there bysage-brush, greasewood, or cactus rearing its prickly spinesgrotesquely. 

Off to the left were pink tinted cliffs and a little farther darkcone-like buttes. On the other hand low brown and white hills stretchedaway to the wonderful petrified forest, where great tracts of fallentree trunks and chips lay locked in glistening stone. 

To the south he could see the familiar water-hole, and farther theentrance to the canyon, fringed with cedars and pines. The grandeur ofthe scene impressed him anew. 

"Beautiful, beautiful!" he murmured, "and a grand God to have it so!"Then a shadow of sadness passed over his face, and he spoke again aloudas had come to be his habit in this vast loneliness. 

"I guess it is worth it, " he said, "worth all the lonely days anddiscouraging months and disappointments, just to be alone with awonderful Father like mine!"

He had just come from a three days' trip in company with anothermissionary whose station was a two days' journey by horseback from hisown, and whose cheery little home was presided over by a sweet-facedwoman, come recently from the East to share his fortunes. The deliciousdinner prepared for her husband and his guests, the air of comfort inthe three-roomed shack, the dainty touches that showed a woman's hand, had filled Brownleigh with a noble envy. Not until this visit had herealized how very much alone his life was. 

He was busy of course from morning till night, and his enthusiasm forhis work was even greater than when nearly three years before he hadbeen sent out by the Board to minister to the needs of the Indians. Friends he had by the score. Wherever a white man or trader lived in theregion he was always welcome; and the Indians knew and loved his coming. He had come around this way now to visit an Indian hogan where theshadow of death was hovering over a little Indian maiden beloved of herfather. It had been a long way around and the missionary was weary withmany days in the saddle, but he was glad he had come. The little maidhad smiled to see him, and felt that the dark valley of death seemedmore to her now like one of her own flower-lit canyons that led out to abrighter, wider day, since she had heard the message of life he broughther. 

But as he looked afar over the long way he had come, and thought of thebright little home where he had dined the day before, the sadness stilllingered in his face. 

"It would be good to have somebody like that, " he said, aloud again, "somebody to expect me, and be glad, --but then"--thoughtfully--"Isuppose there are not many girls who are willing to give up their homesand go out to rough it as she has done. It is a hard life for awoman--for that kind of a woman!" A pause, then, "And I wouldn't wantany other kind!"

His eyes grew large with wistfulness. It was not often thus that thecheery missionary stopped to think upon his own lot in life. His heartwas in his work, and he could turn his hand to anything. There wasalways plenty to be done. Yet to-day for some inexplicable reason, forthe first time since he had really got into the work and outgrown hisfirst homesickness, he was hungry for companionship. He had seen a lightin the eyes of his fellow-missionary that spoke eloquently of thecomfort and joy he himself had missed and it struck deep into his heart. He had stopped here on this mesa, with the vast panorama of the desertspread before him, to have it out with himself. 

The horse breathed restfully, drooping his head and closing his eyes tomake the most of the brief respite, and the man sat thinking, trying tofill his soul with the beauty of the scene and crowd out the longingsthat had pressed upon him. Suddenly he raised his head with a quietupward motion and said reverently:

"Oh, my Christ, you knew what this loneliness was! You were lonely too!It is the way you went, and I will walk with you! That will be good. "

He sat for a moment with uplifted face towards the vast sky, his finestrong features touched with a tender light, their sadness changing intopeace. Then with the old cheery brightness coming into his face again hereturned to the earth and its duties. 

"Billy, it's time we were getting on, " he remarked to his horsechummily. "Do you see that sun in the heavens? It'll get there before wedo if we don't look out, and we're due at the fort to-night if we canpossibly make it. We had too much vacation, that's about the size of it, and we're spoiled! We're lazy, Billy! We'll have to get down to work. Now how about it? Can we get to that water-hole in half an hour? Let'stry for it, old fellow, and then we'll have a good drink, and a bite toeat, and maybe ten minutes for a nap before we take the short trailhome. There's some of the corn chop left for you, Billy, so hustle up, old boy, and get there. "

Billy, with an answering snort, responded to his master's words, andcarefully picked his way over boulders and rocks down to the valleybelow. 

But within a half mile of the water-hole the young man suddenly haltedhis horse and sprang from the saddle, stooping in the sand beside a tallyucca to pick up something that gleamed like fire in the sunlight. Inall that brilliant glowing landscape a bit of brightness had caught hiseye and insistently flung itself upon his notice as worthy ofinvestigation. There was something about the sharp light it flung thatspoke of another world than the desert. John Brownleigh could not passit by. It might be only a bit of broken glass from an empty flask flungcarelessly aside, but it did not look like that. He must see. 

Wondering he stooped and picked it up, a bit of bright gold on thehandle of a handsome riding whip. It was not such a whip as people inthis region carried; it was dainty, costly, elegant, a lady's ridingwhip! It spoke of a world of wealth and attention to expensive details, as far removed from this scene as possible. Brownleigh stood still inwonder and turned the pretty trinket over in his hand. Now how did thatwhip come to be lying in a bunch of sage-brush on the desert? Jewelled, too, and that must have given the final keen point of light to the flamewhich made him stop short in the sand to pick it up. It was a singleclear stone of transparent yellow, a topaz likely, he thought, butwonderfully alive with light, set in the end of the handle, and lookingclosely he saw a handsome monogram engraved on the side, and made outthe letters H. R. But that told him nothing. 

With knit brows he pondered, one foot in the stirrup, the other stillupon the desert, looking at the elegant toy. Now who, _who_ would be sofoolish as to bring a thing like that into the desert? There were nolady riders anywhere about that he knew, save the major's sister at themilitary station, and she was most plain in all her appointments. Thisfrivolous implement of horsemanship never belonged to the major'ssister. Tourists seldom came this way. What did it mean?

He sprang into the saddle and shading his eyes with his hand scanned theplain, but only the warm shimmer of sun-heated earth appeared. Nothingliving could be seen. What ought he to do about it? Was there any way hemight find out the owner and restore the lost property?

Pondering thus, his eyes divided between the distance and the glitteringwhip-handle, they came to the water-hole; and Brownleigh dismounted, histhoughts still upon the little whip. 

"It's very strange, Billy. I can't make out a theory that suits me, " hemused aloud. "If any one has been riding out this way and lost it, willthey perhaps return and look for it? Yet if I leave it where I found itthe sand might drift over it at any time. And surely, in this sparselysettled country, I shall be able to at least hear of any strangers whomight have carried such a foolish little thing. Then, too, if I leave itwhere I found it some one might steal it. Well, I guess we'll take itwith us, Billy; we'll hear of the owner somewhere some time no doubt. "

The horse answered with a snort of satisfaction as he lifted his moistmuzzle from the edge of the water and looked contentedly about. 

The missionary unstrapped his saddle and flung it on the ground, unfastening the bag of "corn chop" and spreading it conveniently beforehis dumb companion. Then he set about gathering a few sticks from nearat hand and started a little blaze. In a few minutes the water wasbubbling cheerfully in his little folding tin cup for a cup of tea, anda bit of bacon was frying in a diminutive skillet beside it. Corn breadand tea and sugar came from the capacious pockets of the saddle. Billyand his missionary made a good meal beneath the wide bright quiet of thesky. 

When the corn chop was finished Billy let his long lashes droop lowerand lower, and his nose go down and down until it almost touched theground, dreaming of more corn chop, and happy in having his wantssupplied. But his master, stretched at full length upon the ground withhat drawn over his eyes, could not lose himself in sleep for a second. His thoughts were upon the jewelled whip, and by and by he reached hishand out for it, and shoving back his hat lay watching the glinting oflights within the precious heart of the topaz, as the sun caught andtangled its beams in the sharp facets of the cutting. He puzzled hismind to know how the whip came to be in the desert, and what was meantby it. One reads life by details in that wide and lonely land. This whipmight mean something. But what?

At last he dropped his hand and sitting up with his upward glance hesaid aloud:

"Father, if there's any reason why I ought to look for the owner, guideme. "

He spoke as if the One he addressed were always present in hisconsciousness, and they were on terms of the closest intimacy. 

He sprang up then and began putting the things together, as if theburden of the responsibility were upon One fully able to bear it. 

They were soon on their way again, Billy swinging along with the fullrealization of the nearness of home. 

The way now led towards hazy blue lines of mesas with crags and ridgeshere and there. Across the valley, looking like a cloud-shadow, milesdistant lay a long black streak, the line of the gorge of the canyon. Its dim presence seemed to grow on the missionary's thought as he drewnearer. He had not been to that canyon for more than a month. There werea few scattered Indians living with their families here and there incorners where there was a little soil. The thought of them drew him now. He must make out to go to them soon. If it were not that Billy had beenso far he would go up there this afternoon. But the horse needed restif the man did not, and there was of course no real hurry about thematter. He would go perhaps in the morning. Meantime it would be good toget to his own fireside once more and attend to a few letters thatshould be written. He was invited to the fort that night for dinner. There was to be some kind of a frolic, some visitors from the East. Hehad said he would come if he reached home in time. He probably would, but the idea was not attractive just now. He would rather rest and readand go to sleep early. But then, of course he would go. Suchopportunities were none too frequent in this lonely land, though in hispresent mood the gay doings at the fort did not appeal to him strongly;besides it meant a ride of ten miles further. However, of course hewould go. He fell to musing over the whip again, and in due time hearrived at his own home, a little one-roomed shanty with a chimney atthe back and four big windows. At the extreme end of the fencedenclosure about the structure was a little shed for Billy, and all aboutwas the vast plain dotted with bushes and weeds, with its panorama ofmountain and hill, valley and gorge. It was beautiful, but it wasdesolate. There were neighbours, a few, but they lived at magnificentdistances. 

"We ought to have a dog, Billy! Why don't we get a dog to welcome ushome?" said Brownleigh, slapping the horse's neck affectionately as hesprang from the saddle; "but then a dog would go along with us, wouldn'the, so there'd be three of us to come home instead of two, and thatwouldn't do any good. Chickens? How would that do? But the coyotes wouldsteal them. I guess we'll have to get along with each other, oldfellow. "

The horse, relieved of his saddle, gave a shake of comfort as a manmight stretch himself after a weary journey, and trotted into his shed. Brownleigh made him comfortable and turned to go to the house. 

As he walked along by the fence he caught sight of a small dark objecthanging on a sage-bush a short distance from the front of his house. Itseemed to move slightly, and he stopped and watched it a second thinkingit might be some animal caught in the bush, or in hiding. It seemed tostir again as objects watched intently often will, and springing overthe rail fence Brownleigh went to investigate. Nothing in that countrywas left to uncertainty. Men liked to know what was about them. 

As he neared the bush, however, the object took on a tangible form andcolour, and coming closer he picked it up and turned it over clumsily inhis hand. A little velvet riding cap, undoubtedly a lady's, with thename of a famous New York costumer wrought in silk letters in thelining. Yes, there was no question about its being a lady's cap, for along gleaming golden hair, with an undoubted tendency to curl, stillclung to the velvet. A sudden embarrassment filled him, as though he hadbeen handling too intimately another's property unawares. He raised hiseyes and shaded them with his hand to look across the landscape, ifperchance the owner might be at hand, though even as he did so he felt aconviction that the little velvet cap belonged to the owner of the whipwhich he still held in his other hand. H. R. Where was H. R. , and whocould she be?

For some minutes he stood thinking it out, locating the exact spot inhis memory where he had found the whip. It had not been on any regulartrail. That was strange. He stooped to see if there were any furtherevidences of passers-by, but the slight breeze had softly covered alldefinite marks. He was satisfied, however, after examining the groundabout for some distance either way, that there could have been but onehorse. He was wise in the lore of the trail. By certain little thingsthat he saw or did not see he came to this conclusion. 

Just as he was turning to go back to his cabin he came to a halt againwith an exclamation of wonder, for there close at his feet, half hiddenunder a bit of sage, lay a small shell comb. He stooped and picked it upin triumph. 

"I declare, I have quite a collection, " he said aloud. "Are there anymore? By these tokens I may be able to find her after all. " And hestarted with a definite purpose and searched the ground for several rodsahead, then going back and taking a slightly different direction, hesearched again and yet again, looking back each time to get his bearingsfrom the direction where he had found the whip, arguing that the horsemust likely have taken a pretty straight line and gone at a rapid pace. 

He was rewarded at last by finding two shell hairpins, and near them asingle hoof print, that, sheltered by a heavy growth of sage, hadescaped the obliteration of the wind. This he knelt and studiedcarefully, taking in all the details of size and shape and direction;then, finding no more hairpins or combs, he carefully put his booty intohis pocket and hurried back to the cabin, his brow knit in deepthought. 

"Father, is this Thy leading?" He paused at the door and looked up. Heopened the door and stepped within. The restfulness of the place calledto him to stay. 

There was the wide fireplace with a fire laid all ready for the touch ofa match that would bring the pleasant blaze to dispel the loneliness ofthe place. There was the easy chair, his one luxury, with its leathercushions and reclining back; his slippers on the floor close by; thelittle table with its well-trimmed student lamp, his college paper andthe one magazine that kept him in touch with the world freshly arrivedbefore he left for his recent trip, and still unopened. How they calledto him! Yet when he laid the whip upon the magazine the slanting ray ofsun that entered by the door caught the glory of the topaz and sent itscintillating, and somehow the magazine lost its power to hold him. 

One by one he laid his trophies down beside the whip; the velvet cap, the hairpins and the little comb, and then stood back startled with thewonder of it and looked about his bachelor quarters. 

It was a pleasant spot, far lovelier than its weather-stained exteriorwould lead one to suppose. A Navajo blanket hung upon one wall abovethe bed, and another enwrapped and completely covered the bed itself, making a spot of colour in the room, and giving an air of luxury. Twoquaint rugs of Indian workmanship upon the floor, one in front of thebed, the other before the fireplace where one's feet would rest whensitting in the big chair, did much to hide the discrepancies of the uglyfloor. A rough set of shelves at the side of the fireplace handy toreach from the easy chair were filled with treasures of great minds, thebooks he loved well, all he could afford to bring with him, a fewcommentaries, not many, an encyclopedia, a little biography, a fewclassics, botany, biology, astronomy and a much worn Bible. On the wallabove was a large card catalogue of Indian words; and around the roomwere some of his own pencil drawings of plants and animals. 

Over in the opposite end of the room from the bed was a table coveredwith white oilcloth; and on the wall behind, the cupboard which held hisdishes, and his stock of provisions. It was a pleasant spot and wellordered, for he never liked to leave his quarters in disarray lest someone might enter during his absence, or come back with him. Besides, itwas pleasanter so to return to it. A rough closet of goodly proportionsheld his clothes, his trunk, and any other stores. 

He stood and looked about it now and then let his eyes travel back tothose small feminine articles on the little table beside him. It gavehim a strange sensation. What if they belonged there? What if the ownerof them lived there, was coming in in a minute now to meet him? Howwould it seem? What would she be like? For just an instant he lethimself dream, and reaching out touched the velvet of the cap, then tookit in his hand and smoothed its silken surface. A faint perfume ofanother world seemed to steal from its texture, and to linger on hishands. He drew a breath of wonder and laid it down; then with a start hecame to himself. Suppose she did belong, and were out somewhere and hedid not know where? Suppose something had happened to her--the horse runaway, thrown her somewhere perhaps, --or she might have strayed away froma camp and lost her way--or been frightened?

These might be all foolish fantasies of a weary brain, but the man knewhe could not rest until he had at least made an attempt to find out. Hesank down in the big chair for a moment to think it out and closed hiseyes, making swift plans. 

Billy must have a chance to rest a little; a fagged horse could notaccomplish much if the journey were far and the need for haste. He couldnot go for an hour yet. And there would be preparations to make. He mustrepack the saddle-bags with feed for Billy, food for himself and apossible stranger, restoratives, and a simple remedy or two in case ofaccident. These were articles he always took with him on long journeys. He considered taking his camping tent but that would mean the wagon, andthey could not go so rapidly with that. He must not load Billy heavily, after the miles he had already come. But he could take a bit of canvasstrapped to the saddle, and a small blanket. Of course it might be but awild goose chase after all--yet he could not let his impression gounheeded. 

Then there was the fort. In case he found the lady and restored herproperty in time he might be able to reach the fort by evening. He musttake that into consideration also. 

With alacrity he arose and went about his preparations, soon having hissmall baggage in array. His own toilet came next. A bath and freshclothing; then, clean shaven and ready, all but his coat, he flunghimself upon his bed for ten minutes of absolute relaxation, after whichhe felt himself quite fit for the expedition. Springing up he put oncoat and hat, gathered up with reverent touch the bits of things he hadfound, locked his cabin and went out to Billy, a lump of sugar in hishand. 

"Billy, old fellow, we're under orders to march again, " he saidapologetically, and Billy answered with a neigh of pleasure, submittingto the saddle as though he were quite ready for anything required ofhim. 

"Now, Father, " said the missionary with his upward look, "show us theway. "

So, taking the direction from the hoof print in the sand, Billy and hismaster sped away once more into the westering light of the deserttowards the long black shadowed entrance of the canyon. 

III

THE DESERT

Hazel, as she was borne along, her lovely hair streaming in the wind andlashing her across the face and eyes now and again, breath comingpainfully, eyes smarting, fingers aching in the vise-like hold she wascompelled to keep upon the saddle, began to wonder just how long shecould hold out. It seemed to her it was a matter of minutes only whenshe must let go and be whirled into space while the tempestuous steedsped on and left her. 

Nothing like this motion had ever come into her experience before. Shehad been run away with once, but that was like a cradle to this tornadoof motion. She had been frightened before, but never like this. Theblood pounded in her head and eyes until it seemed it would burst forth, and now and again the surging of it through her ears gave the sensationof drowning, yet on and on she went. It was horrible to have no bridle, and nothing to say about where she should go, no chance to control herhorse. It was like being on an express train with the engineer dead inhis cab and no way to get to the brakes. They must stop some time andwhat then? Death seemed inevitable, and yet as the mad rush continuedshe almost wished it might come and end the horror of this ride. 

It seemed hours before she began to realize that the horse was no longergoing at quite such a breakneck speed, or else she was growingaccustomed to the motion and getting her breath, she could not quite besure which. But little by little she perceived that the mad flying hadsettled into a long lope. The pony evidently had no intention ofstopping and it was plain that he had some distinct place in mind towhich he was going as straight and determinedly as any human being everlaid out a course and forged ahead in it. There was that about his wholebeastly contour that showed it was perfectly useless to try to deter himfrom it or to turn him aside. 

When her breath came less painfully, Hazel made a fitful little attemptto drop a quiet word of reason into his ear. 

"Nice pony, nice, good pony----!" she soothed, but the wind caught hervoice and flung it aside as it had flung her cap a few moments before, and the pony only laid his ears back and fled stolidly on. 

She gathered her forces again. 

"Nice pony! Whoa, sir!" she cried, a little louder than the last timeand trying to make her voice sound firm and commanding. 

But the pony had no intention of "whoa-ing, " and though she repeated thecommand many times, her voice growing each time more firm and normal, heonly showed the whites of his eyes at her and continued doggedly on hisway. 

She saw it was useless; and the tears, usually with her under finecontrol, came streaming down her white cheeks. 

"Pony, good horse, _dear_ pony, won't you stop!" she cried and her wordsended with a sob. But still the pony kept on. 

The desert fled about her yet seemed to grow no shorter ahead, and thedark line of cloud mystery, with the towering mountains beyond, were nonearer than when she first started. It seemed much like riding on arocking-horse, one never got anywhere, only no rocking-horse flew atsuch a speed. 

Yet she realized now that the pace was much modified from what it hadbeen at first, and the pony's motion was not hard. If she had not beenso stiff and sore in every joint and muscle with the terrible tensionshe had kept up the riding would not have been at all bad. But she wasconscious of most terrible weariness, a longing to drop down on the sandof the desert and rest, not caring whether she ever went on again ornot. She had never felt such terrible weariness in her life. 

She could hold on now with one hand, and relax the muscles of the othera little. She tried with one hand presently to do something with thatsweeping pennant of hair that lashed her in the face so unexpectedly nowand then, but could only succeed in twisting it about her neck andtucking the ends into the neck of her riding habit; and from this frailbinding it soon slipped free again. 

She was conscious of the heat of the sun on her bare head, the smartingof her eyes. The pain in her chest was subsiding, and she could breathefreely again, but her heart felt tired, so tired, and she wanted to liedown and cry. Would she never get anywhere and be helped?

How soon would her father and brother miss her and come after her? Whenshe dared she looked timidly behind, and then again more lingeringly, but there was nothing to be seen but the same awful stretch of distancewith mountains of bright colour in the boundaries everywhere; not aliving thing but herself and the pony to be seen. It was awful. Somewhere between herself and the mountains behind was the place she hadstarted from, but the bright sun shone steadily, hotly down andshimmered back again from the bright earth, and nothing broke the awfulrepose of the lonely space. It was as if she had suddenly been caught upand flung out into a world where was no other living being. 

Why did they not come after her? Surely, surely, pretty soon she wouldsee them coming. They would spur their horses on when they found she hadbeen run away with. Her father and brother would not leave her long inthis horrible plight. 

Then it occurred to her that her father and brother had been for sometime out of sight ahead before she began her race. They would not knowshe was gone, at once; but of course Mr. Hamar would do something. Hewould not leave her helpless. The habit of years of trusting him assuredher of that. For the instant she had forgotten the cause of her flight. Then suddenly she remembered it with sickening thought. He who had beento her a brave fine hero, suffering daily through the carelessness of awife who did not understand him, had stepped down from his pedestal andbecome the lowest of the low. He had dared to kiss her! He had said hewould marry her--he, --a married man! Her whole soul revolted against himagain, and now she was glad she had run away--glad the horse had takenher so far--glad she had shown him how terrible the whole thing lookedto her. She was even glad that her father and brother were far away too, for the present, until she should adjust herself to life once more. Howcould she have faced them after what happened? How could she ever livein the same world with that man again, --that fallen hero? How could sheever have thought so much of him? She had almost worshipped him, and hadbeen so pleased when he had seemed to enjoy her company, andcomplimented her by telling her she had whiled away a weary hour forhim! And he? He had been meaning--_this_--all the time! He had looked ather with that thought in his mind! Oh--awful degradation!

There was something so revolting in the memory of his voice and face ashe had told her that she closed her eyes and shuddered as she recalledit, and once more the tears went coursing down her cheeks and she sobbedaloud, piteously, her head bowing lower and lower over the pony's neck, her bright hair falling down about her shoulders and beating against theanimal's breast and knees as he ran, her stiffened fingers clutching hismane to keep her balance, her whole weary little form drooping over hisneck in a growing exhaustion, her entire being swept by alternate wavesof anger, revulsion and fear. 

Perhaps all this had its effect on the beast; perhaps somewhere in hismake-up there lay a spot, call it instinct or what you please, thatvibrated in response to the distress of the human creature he carried. Perhaps the fact that she was in trouble drew his sympathy, wickedlittle willful imp though he usually was. Certain it is that he began toslacken his pace decidedly, until at last he was walking, and finallystopped short and turned his head about with a troubled neigh as if toask her what was the matter. 

The sudden cessation of the motion almost threw her from her seat; andwith new fear gripping her heart she clutched the pony's mane thetighter and looked about her trembling. She was conscious more thananything else of the vast spaces about her in every direction, of theloneliness of the spot, and her own desolate condition. She had wantedthe horse to stop and let her get down to solid ground, and now that hehad done so and she might dismount a great horror filled her and shedared not. But with the lessening of the need for keeping up the tensestrain of nerve and muscle, she suddenly began to feel that she couldnot sit up any longer, that she must lie down, let go this awful strain, stop this uncontrollable trembling which was quivering all over herbody. 

The pony, too, seemed wondering, impatient that she did not dismount atonce. He turned his nose towards her again with a questioning snuff andsnort, and showed the wicked whites of his eyes in wild perplexity. Thena panic seized her. What if he should start to run again? She wouldsurely be thrown this time, for her strength was almost gone. She mustget down and in some way gain possession of the bridle. With the bridleshe might perhaps hope to guide his movements, and make further wildriding impossible. 

Slowly, painfully, guardedly, she took her foot from the stirrup andslipped to the ground. Her cramped feet refused to hold her weight forthe moment and she tottered and went into a little heap on the ground. The pony, feeling his duty for the present done, sidled away from herand began cropping the grass hungrily. 

The girl sank down wearily at full length upon the ground and for amoment it seemed to her she could never rise again. She was too weary tolift her hand or to move the foot that was twisted under her into a morecomfortable position, too weary to even think. Then suddenly the soundof the animal moving steadily away from her roused her to the necessityof securing him. If he should get away in this wide desolation she wouldbe helpless indeed. 

She gathered her flagging energy and got painfully upon her feet. Thehorse was nearly a rod away, and moving slowly, steadily, as he ate, with now and then a restless lifting of his head to look off into thedistance and take a few determined steps before he stopped for anotherbite. That horse had something on his mind and was going straighttowards it. She felt that he cared little what became of her. She mustlook out for herself. This was something she had never had to do before;but the instinct came with the need. 

Slowly, tremblingly, feeling her weakness, she stole towards him, abunch of grass in her hand she had plucked as she came, holding itobviously as she had fed a lump of sugar or an apple to her finelygroomed mare in New York. But the grass she held was like all the grassabout him, and the pony had not been raised a pet. He tossed his noseenergetically and scornfully as she drew near and hastened on a pace ortwo. 

Cautiously she came on again talking to him gently, pleadingly, complimentarily: "Nice good horsey! Pretty pony so he was!" But he onlyedged away again. 

And so they went on for some little way until Hazel almost despaired ofcatching him at all, and was becoming more and more aware of thevastness of the universe about her, and the smallness of her own being. 

At last, however, her fingers touched the bridle, she felt the pony'squick jerk, strained every muscle to hold on, and found she hadconquered. He was in her hands. For how long was a question, for he wasstrong enough to walk away and drag her by the bridle perhaps, and sheknew little about tricks of management. Moreover her muscles were soflabby and sore with the long ride that she was ill-fitted to cope withthe wise and wicked little beast. She dreaded to get upon his backagain, and doubted if she could if she tried, but it seemed the only wayto get anywhere, or to keep company with the pony, for she could nothope to detain him by mere physical force if he decided otherwise. 

She stood beside him for a moment, looking about her over the widedistance. Everything looked alike, and different from anything she hadever seen before. She must certainly get on that pony's back, for herfear of the desert became constantly greater. It was almost as if itwould snatch her away in a moment more if she stayed there longer, andcarry her into vaster realms of space where her soul would be lost ininfinitude. She had never been possessed by any such feeling before andit frightened her unreasoningly. 

Turning to the pony, she measured the space from the ground to the queersaddle and wondered how people mounted such things without a groom. Whenshe had mounted that morning it had been Milton Hamar's strong arm thatswung her into the saddle, and his hand that held her foot for theinstant of her spring. The memory of it now sent a shudder of dislikeover her whole body. If she had known, he never should have touchedher! The blood mounted uncomfortably into her tired face, and made herconscious of the heat of the day, and of a burning thirst. She must goon and get to some water somewhere. She could not stand this muchlonger. 

Carefully securing the bridle over her arm she reached up and took holdof the saddle, doubtfully at first, and then desperately; tried to reachthe stirrup with one foot, failed and tried again; and then wildlystruggling, jumping, kicking, she vainly sought to climb back to thesaddle. But the pony was not accustomed to such a demonstration atmounting and he strongly objected. Tossing his head he reared and dashedoff, almost throwing the girl to the ground and frightening herterribly. 

Nevertheless the desperation of her situation gave her strength for afresh trial, and she struggled up again, and almost gained her seat, when the pony began a series of circles which threw her down and madeher dizzy with trying to keep up with him. 

Thus they played the desperate game for half an hour more. Twice thegirl lost the bridle and had to get it again by stealthy wiles, and onceshe was almost on the point of giving up, so utterly exhausted was she. 

But the pony was thirsty too, and he must have decided that the quickestway to water would be to let her mount; for finally with lifted head hestood stock still and let her struggle up his side; and at last, well-nigh falling from sheer weariness, she sat astonished that she hadaccomplished it. She was on his back, and she would never dare to getdown again, she thought, until she got somewhere to safety. But now theanimal, his courage renewed by the bite he had taken, started snortingoff at a rapid pace once more, very nearly upsetting his rider at thestart, and almost losing her the bridle once more. She sat trembling, and gripping bridle and saddle for some time, having enough to do tokeep her seat without trying to direct her bearer, and then she sawbefore her a sudden descent, steep but not very long, and at its bottoma great puddle of dirty water. The pony paused only an instant on thebrink and then began the descent. The girl cried out with fear, butmanaged to keep her seat, and the impatient animal was soon ankle deepin the water drinking long and blissfully. 

Hazel sat looking in dismay about her. The water-hole seemed to beentirely surrounded by steep banks like that they had descended, andthere was no way out except to return. Could the horse climb up with heron his back? And could she keep her seat? She grew cold with fear at thethought, for all her riding experience had been on the level, and shehad become more and more conscious of her flagging strength. 

Besides, the growing thirst was becoming awful. Oh, for just one drop ofthat water that the pony was enjoying! Black and dirty as it was shefelt she could drink it. But it was out of her reach and she dared notget down. Suddenly a thought came to her. She would wet her handkerchiefand moisten her lips with that. If she stooped over quite carefully shemight be able to let it down far enough to touch the water. 

She pulled the small bit of linen from the tiny pocket of her habit andthe pony, as if to help her, waded into the water farther until herskirt almost touched it. Now she found that by putting her arm about thepony's neck she could dip most of her handkerchief in the water, anddirty as it was it was most refreshing to bathe her face and hands andwrists and moisten her lips. 

But the pony when he had his fill had no mind to tarry, and with asplash, a plunge and a wallow that gave the girl an unexpected showerbath, he picked his way out of the hole and up the rocky side of thedescent, while she clung frightened to the saddle and wondered if shecould possibly hang on until they were up on the mesa again. The daintyhandkerchief dropped in the flight floated pitifully on the muddy water, another bit of comfort left behind. 

But when they were up and away again, what with the fright, and the factthat they had come out of the hole on the opposite side from that whichthey had entered it, the girl had lost all sense of direction, andeverywhere stretched away one vast emptiness edged with mountains thatstood out clear, cold and unfriendly. 

The whole atmosphere of the earth seemed to have changed while they weredown at the drinking hole, for now the shadows were long and had almosta menacing attitude as they crept along or leaped sideways after thetravellers. Hazel noticed with a startled glance at the sky that the sunwas low and would soon be down. And that of course where the sun hunglike a great burning opal must be the west, but that told her nothing, for the sun had been high in the heavens when they had started, and shehad taken no note of direction. East, west, north or south were all oneto her in her happy care-free life that she had hitherto led. She triedto puzzle it out and remember which way they had turned from therailroad but grew more bewildered, and the brilliant display in the westflamed alarmingly as she realized that night was coming on and she waslost on a great desert with only a wild tired little pony for company, hungry and thirsty and weary beyond anything she had ever dreamedbefore. 

They had been going down into a broad valley for some little time, whichmade the night seem even nearer. Hazel would have turned her horse backand tried to retrace her steps, but that he would not, for try as shemight, and turn him as she would he circled about and soon was in thesame course again, so that now the tired hands could only hold the reinsstiffly and submit to be carried where the pony willed. It was quiteevident he had a destination in view, and knew the way thereto. Hazelhad read of the instinct of animals. She began to hope that he wouldpresently bring her to a human habitation where she would find help toget to her father once more. 

But suddenly even the glory of the dying sun was lost as the horseentered the dimness of the canyon opening, whose high walls of redstone, rising solemnly on either hand, were serrated here and there withlong transverse lines of grasses and tree-ferns growing in the crevices, and higher up appeared the black openings of caves mysterious andfearsome in the twilight gloom. The way ahead loomed darkly. Somewherefrom out the memories of her childhood came a phrase from thechurch-service to which she had never given conscious attention, butwhich flashed vividly to mind now: "Though I walk through the valley ofthe shadow--the Valley of the Shadow!" Surely this must be it. Shewished she could remember the rest of it. What could it have meant? Sheshivered visibly, and looked about her with wild eyes. 

The cottonwoods and oaks grew thickly at the base of the cliffs, almostconcealing them sometimes, and above the walls rose dark and towering. The way was rough and slippery, filled with great boulders and rocks, around which the pony picked his way without regard to the branches oftrees that swept her face and caught in her long hair as they went by. 

Vainly she strove to guide him back, but he turned only to whirl again, determinedly. Somewhere in the deep gloom ahead he had a destinationand no mere girl was to deter him from reaching it as soon as possible. It was plain to his horse-mind that his rider did not know what shewanted, and he did, so there were no two ways about it. He intended togo back to his old master as straight and as fast as he could get there. This canyon was the shortest cut and through this canyon he meant towalk whether she liked it or not. 

Further and further into the gloom they penetrated, and the girl, frenzied with fear, cried out with the wild hope that some one might benear and come to her rescue. But the gloomy aisle of the canyon caughtup her voice and echoed it far and high, until it came back to her in avolume of sepulchral sound that filled her with a nameless dread andmade her fear to open her lips again. It was as if she had by her cryawakened the evil spirit who inhabited the canyon and set it searchingfor the intruder. "Help! Help!" How the words rolled and returned uponher trembling senses until she quaked and quivered with their echoes!

On went the pony into the deepening shadows, and each moment thedarkness shut down more impenetrably, until the girl could only closeher eyes, lower her head as much as possible to escape the branches--andpray. 

Then suddenly, from above where the distant sky gave a line of light anda single star had appeared to pierce the dusk like a great jewel on alady's gown, there arose a sound; blood-curdling and hideous, high, hollow, far-echoing, chilling her soul with horror and causing her heartto stand still with fear. She had heard it once before, a night or twoago, when their train had stopped in a wide desert for water or repairsor something and the porter of the car had told her it was coyotes. Ithad been distant then, and weird and interesting to think of being sonear real live wild animals. She had peered from the safety of her berthbehind the silken curtains and fancied she saw shadowy forms steal overthe plain under the moonlight. But it was a very different thing to hearthe sound now, out alone among their haunts, with no weapon and none toprotect her. The awfulness of her situation almost took away her senses. 

Still she held to the saddle, weak and trembling, expecting every minuteto be her last; and the horrid howling of the coyotes continued. 

Down below the trail somewhere she could hear the soft trickling ofwater with maddening distinctness now and then. Oh, if she could butquench this terrible thirst! The pony was somewhat refreshed with hisgrass and his drink of water, but the girl, whose life up to this dayhad never known a want unsatisfied, was faint with hunger and burningwith thirst, and this unaccustomed demand upon her strength was fastbringing it to its limit. 

The darkness in the canyon grew deeper, and more stars clustered outoverhead; but far, so very far away! The coyotes seemed just a shadowremoved all about and above. Her senses were swimming. She could not besure just where they were. The horse slipped and stumbled on in thedarkness, and she forgot to try to turn him from his purpose. 

By and by she grew conscious that the way was leading upward again. Theywere scrambling over rough places, large rocks in the way, trees growingclose to the trail, and the pony seemed not to be able to avoid them, orperhaps he didn't care. The howling of the coyotes was growing clearerevery minute but somehow her fear of them was deadened, as her fear ofall else. She was lying low upon the pony, clinging to his neck, toofaint to cry out, too weak to stop the tears that slowly wet his mane. Then suddenly she was caught in the embrace of a low hanging branch, herhair tangled about its roughness. The pony struggled to gain hisuncertain footing, the branch held her fast and the pony scrambled on, leaving his helpless rider behind him in a little huddled heap upon therocky trail, swept from the saddle by the tough old branch. 

The pony stopped a moment upon a bit of shelving rock he had withdifficulty gained, and looked back with a troubled snort, but thehuddled heap in the darkness below him gave forth no sign of life, andafter another snort and a half neigh of warning the pony turned andscrambled on, up and up till he gained the mesa above. 

The late moon rose and hunted its way through the canyon till it foundthe gold of her hair spread about on the rocky way, and touched hersweet unconscious face with the light of cold beauty; the coyotes howledon in solemn chorus, and still the little figure lay quiet andunconscious of her situation. 

IV

THE QUEST

John Brownleigh reached the water-hole at sunset, and while he waitedfor his horse to drink he meditated on what he would do next. If heintended to go to the fort for dinner he should turn at once sharply tothe right and ride hard, unless he was willing to be late. The lady atthe fort liked to have her guests on hand promptly, he knew. 

The sun was down. It had left long splashes of crimson and gold in thewest, and their reflection was shimmering over the muddy water below himso that Billy looked as if he quaffed the richest wine from a goldencup, as he satisfied his thirst contentedly. 

But as the missionary watched the painted water and tried to decide hiscourse, suddenly his eye caught a bit of white something floating, halfclinging to a twig at the edge of the water, a bit of thintransparentness, with delicate lacy edge. It startled him in that desertplace much as the jewel in its golden setting in the sand had startledhim that morning. 

With an exclamation of surprise he stooped over, picked up the littlewet handkerchief and held it out--dainty, white and fine, and in spiteof its wet condition sending forth its violet breath to the senses of aman who had been in the wilds of the desert for three years. It spoke ofrefinement and culture and a world he had left behind him in the East. 

There was a tiny letter embroidered in the corner, but already the lightwas growing too dim to read it, and though he held it up and lookedthrough it and felt the embroidery with his finger-tip he could not besure that it was either of the letters that had been engraved on thewhip. 

Nevertheless, the little white messenger determined his course. Hesearched the edge of the water-hole for hoof prints as well as the dyinglight would reveal, then mounted Billy with decision at once and took uphis quest where he had almost abandoned it. He was convinced that a ladywas out alone in the desert somewhere. 

It was long past midnight when Billy and the missionary came upon thepony, high on the mesa, grazing. The animal had evidently felt the needfor food and rest before proceeding further, and was perhaps a littleuneasy about that huddled form in the darkness he had left. 

Billy and the pony were soon hobbled and left to feed together while themissionary, all thought of his own need of rest forgotten, began asystematic search for the missing rider. He first carefully examined thepony and saddle. The saddle somehow reminded him of Shag Bunce, but thepony was a stranger to him; neither could he make out the letter of thebrand in the pale moonlight. However, it might be a new animal, justpurchased and not yet branded--or there might be a thousandexplanations. The thought of Shag Bunce reminded him of the handsomeprivate car he had seen upon the track that morning. But even if a partyhad gone out to ride how would one of them get separated? Surely no ladywould venture over the desert alone, not a stranger at any rate. 

Still in the silver and black of the shadowed night he searched on, andnot until the rosy light of dawning began to flush and grow in the eastdid he come to stand at the top of the canyon where he could look downand see the girl, her green riding habit blending darkly with the darkforms of the trees still in shadow, the gold of her hair glinted withthe early light, and her white, white face turned upward. 

He lost no time in climbing down to her side, dreading what he mightfind. Was she dead? What had happened to her? It was a perilous spotwhere she lay, and the dangers that might have harmed her had been many. The sky grew pink, and tinted all the clouds with rose as he kneltbeside the still form. 

A moment served to convince him that she was still alive; even in thehalf darkness he could see the drawn, weary look of her face. Poorchild! Poor little girl, lost on the desert! He was glad, glad he hadcome to find her. 

He gathered her in his strong arms and bore her upward to the light. 

Laying her in a sheltered spot he quickly brought water, bathed her faceand forced a stimulant between the white lips. He chafed her cold littlehands, blistered with the bridle, gave her more stimulant, and wasrewarded by seeing a faint colour steal into the lips and cheeks. Finally the white lids fluttered open for a second and gave him aglimpse of great dark eyes in which was still mirrored the horror andfright of the night. 

He gave her another draught, and hastened to prepare a more comfortableresting place, bringing the canvas from Billy's pack, and one or twoother little articles that might make for comfort, among them a smallhot water bottle. When he had her settled on the canvas with sweet fernsand grass underneath for a pillow and his own blanket spread over her heset about gathering wood for a fire, and soon he had water boiling inhis tin cup, enough to fill the rubber bottle. When he put it in hercold hands she opened her eyes again wonderingly. He smiled reassuringlyand she nestled down contentedly with the comfort of the warmth. She wastoo weary to question or know aught save that relief from a terriblehorror was come at last. 

The next time he came to her it was with a cup of strong beef tea whichhe held to her lips and coaxed her to swallow. When it was finished shelay back and slept again with a long drawn trembling sigh that wasalmost like a sob, and the heart of the young man was shaken to itsdepths over the agony through which she must have passed. Poor child, poor little child!

He busied himself with making their temporary camp as comfortable aspossible, and looking after the needs of the horses, then coming backto his patient he stood looking down at her as she slept, wondering whathe ought to do next. 

They were a long distance from any human habitation. Whatever made thepony take this lonely trail was a puzzle. It led to a distant Indiansettlement, and doubtless the animal was returning to his former master, but how had it come that the rider had not turned him back?

Then he looked down at the frail girl asleep on the ground and grewgrave as he thought of the perils through which she had passed alone andunguarded. The exquisite delicacy of her face touched him as the visionof an angelic being might have done, and for an instant he forgoteverything in the wonder with which her beauty filled him; the lovelyoutline of the profile as it rested lightly against her raised arm, thefineness and length of her wealth of hair, like spun gold in the glintof the sunshine that was just peering over the rim of the mountain, theclearness of her skin, so white and different from the women in thatregion, the pitiful droop of the sweet lips showing utter exhaustion. His heart went out from him with longing to comfort her, guard her, andbring her back to happiness. A strange, joyful tenderness for herfilled him as he looked, so that he could scarcely draw his gaze fromher face. Then all at once it came over him that she would not like astranger thus to stand and gaze upon her helplessness, and with quickreverence he turned his eyes away towards the sky. 

It was a peculiar morning, wonderfully beautiful. The clouds were tintedpink almost like a sunset and lasted so for over an hour, as if the dawnwere coming gently that it might not waken her who slept. 

Brownleigh, with one more glance to see if his patient was comfortable, went softly away to gather wood, bring more water, and make variouslittle preparations for a breakfast later when she should waken. In anhour he tiptoed back to see if all was going well, and stooping laid apracticed finger on the delicate wrist to note the flutter of her pulse. He could count it with care, feeble, as if the heart had been underheavy strain, but still growing steadier on the whole. She was doingwell to sleep. It was better than any medicine he could administer. 

Meantime, he must keep a sharp lookout for travellers. They were quiteoff the trail here, and the trail was an old one anyway and almostdisused. There was little likelihood of many passers. It might be daysbefore any one came that way. There was no human habitation within call, and he dared not leave his charge to go in search of help to carry herback to civilization again. He must just wait here till she was able totravel. 

It occurred to him to wonder where she belonged and how she came to bethus alone, and whether it was not altogether probable that a party ofsearchers might be out soon with some kind of a conveyance to carry herhome. He must keep a sharp lookout and signal any passing rider. 

To this end he moved away from the sleeping girl as far as he daredleave her, and uttered a long, clear call occasionally, but no answercame. 

He dared not use his rifle for signalling lest he run out of ammunitionwhich he might need before he got back with his charge. However, he feltit wise to combine hunting with signalling, and when a rabbit hurriedacross his path not far away he shot it, and the sound echoed out in theclear morning, but no answering signal came. 

After he had shot two rabbits and dressed them ready for dinner when hisguest should wake, he replenished the fire, set the rabbits to roastingon a curious little device of his own, and lay down on the opposite sideof the fire. He was weary beyond expression himself, but he neverthought of it once. The excitement of the occasion kept him up. He laystill marvelling at the strangeness of his position, and wondering whatwould be revealed when the girl should wake. He almost dreaded to haveher do so lest she should not be as perfect as she looked asleep. Hisheart was in a tumult of wonder over her, and of thankfulness that hehad found her before some terrible fate had overtaken her. 

As he lay there resting, filled with an exalted joy, his mind wanderedto the longings of the day before, the little adobe home of hisco-labourer which he had left, its homeyness and joy; his own lonelinessand longing for companionship. Then he looked shyly towards the treeshade where the glint of golden hair and the dark line of his blanketwere all he could see of the girl he had found in the wilderness. Whatif his Father had answered his prayer and sent her to him! What miracleof joy! A thrill of tenderness passed through him and he pressed hishands over his closed eyes in a kind of ecstasy. 

What foolishness! Dreams, of course! He tried to sober himself but hecould not keep from thinking how it would seem to have this lovely girlenthroned in his little shack, ready to share his joys and comfort hissorrows; to be beloved and guarded and tenderly cared for by him. 

A stir of the old blanket and a softly drawn sigh brought this deliciousreverie to a close, and himself to his feet flushing cold and hot atthought of facing her awake. 

She had turned over towards him slightly, her cheeks flushed with sleep. One hand was thrown back over her head, and the sun caught and flashedthe sparkle of jewels into his eyes, great glory-clear gems like dropsof morning dew when the sun is new upon them, and the flash of thejewels told him once more what he had known before, that here was adaughter of another world than his. They seemed to hurt him as helooked, those costly gems, for they pierced to his heart and told himthey were set on a wall of separation which might rise forever betweenher and himself. 

Then suddenly he came to himself and was the missionary again, with hissenses all on the alert, and a keen realization that it was high noonand his patient was waking up. He must have slept himself although hethought he had been broad awake all the time. The hour had come foraction and he must put aside the foolish thoughts that had crowded inwhen his weary brain was unable to cope with the cool facts of life. Ofcourse all this was stuff and nonsense that he had been dreaming. Hemust do his duty by this needy one now. 

Stepping softly he brought a cup of water that he had placed in theshade to keep cool, and stood beside the girl, speaking quietly, asthough he had been her nurse for years. 

"Wouldn't you like a drink of water?" he asked. 

The girl opened her eyes and looked up at him bewildered. 

"Oh, yes, " she said eagerly, though her voice was very weak. "Oh, yes, --I'm so thirsty. --I thought we never would get anywhere!"

She let him lift her head, and drank eagerly, then sank back exhaustedand closed her eyes. He almost thought she was going to sleep again. 

"Wouldn't you like something to eat?" he asked. "Dinner is almost ready. Do you think you can sit up to eat or would you rather lie still?"

"Dinner!" she said languidly; "but I thought it was night. Did I dreamit all, and how did I get here? I don't remember this place. "

She looked around curiously and then closed her eyes as if the effortwere almost too much. 

"Oh, I feel so queer and tired, as if I never wanted to move again, " shemurmured. 

"Don't move, " he commanded. "Wait until you've had something to eat. I'll bring it at once. "

He brought a cup of steaming hot beef extract with little broken bits ofbiscuit from a small tin box in the pack, and fed it to her a spoonfulat a time. 

"Who are you?" she asked as she swallowed the last spoonful, and openedher eyes, which had been closed most of the time, while he fed her, asif she were too tired to keep them open. 

"Oh, I'm just the missionary. Brownleigh's my name. Now don't talk untilyou've had the rest of your dinner. I'll bring it in a minute. I want tomake you a cup of tea, but you see I have to wash this cup first. Thesupply of dishes is limited. " His genial smile and hearty wordsreassured her and she smiled and submitted. 

"A missionary!" she mused and opened her eyes furtively to watch him ashe went about his task. A missionary! She had never seen a missionarybefore, to her knowledge. She had fancied them always quite a differentspecies, plain old maids with hair tightly drawn behind their ears and apoke bonnet with little white lawn strings. 

This was a man, young, strong, engaging, and handsome as a fine piece ofbronze. The brown flannel shirt he wore fitted easily over well knitmuscles and exactly matched the brown of the abundant wavy hair in whichthe morning sun was setting glints of gold as he knelt before the fireand deftly completed his cookery. His soft wide-brimmed felt hat pushedfar back on the head, the corduroy trousers, leather chaps and belt withbrace of pistols all fitted into the picture and made the girl feel thatshe had suddenly left the earth where she had heretofore lived and beendropped into an unknown land with a strong kind angel to look after her. 

A missionary! Then of course she needn't be afraid of him. As shestudied his face she knew that she couldn't possibly have been afraid ofthat face anyway, unless, perhaps, she had ventured to disobey itsowner's orders. He had a strong, firm chin, and his lips though kindlyin their curve looked decided as though they were not to be trifledwith. On the whole if this was a missionary then she must change herideas of missionaries from this time forth. 

She watched his light, free movements, now sitting back upon his heelsto hold the cup of boiling water over the blaze by a curiously contrivedhandle, now rising and going to the saddle pack for some needed article. There was something graceful as well as powerful about his every motion. He gave one a sense of strength and almost infinite resource. Thensuddenly her imagination conjured there beside him the man from whom shehad fled, and in the light of this fine face the other face darkened andweakened and she had a swift revelation of his true character, andwondered that she had never known before. A shudder passed over her, anda gray pallor came into her face at the memory. She felt a greatdistaste for thinking or the necessity for even living at that moment. 

Then at once he was beside her with a tin plate and the cup of steamingtea, and began to feed her, as if she had been a baby, roast rabbit andtoasted corn bread. She ate unquestioningly, and drank her tea, findingall delicious after her long fast, and gaining new strength with everymouthful. 

"How did I get here?" she asked suddenly, rising to one elbow andlooking around. "I don't seem to remember a place like this. "

"I found you hanging on a bush in the moonlight, " he said gravely, "andbrought you here. "

Hazel lay back and reflected on this. He had brought her here. Then hemust have carried her! Well, his arms looked strong enough to lift aheavier person than herself--but he had brought her here!

A faint colour stole into her pale cheeks. 

"Thank you, " she said at last. "I suppose I wasn't just able to comemyself. " There was a droll little pucker at the corner of her mouth. 

"Not exactly, " he answered as he gathered up the dishes. 

"I remember that crazy little steed of mine began to climb straight upthe side of a terrible wall in the dark, and finally decided to wipe meoff with a tree. That is the last I can recall. I felt myself slippingand couldn't hold on any longer. Then it all got dark and I let go. "

"Where were you going?" asked the young man. 

"Going? I wasn't going anywhere, " said the girl; "the pony was doingthat. He was running away, I suppose. He ran miles and hours with me andI couldn't stop him. I lost hold on the bridle, you see, and he hadideas about what he wanted to do. I was almost frightened to death, andthere wasn't a soul in sight all day. I never saw such an empty place inmy life. It can't be this is still Arizona, we came so far. "

"When did you start?" the missionary questioned gravely. 

"Why, this morning, --that is--why, it must have been yesterday. I'm sureI don't know when. It was Wednesday morning about eleven o'clock that weleft the car on horseback to visit a mine papa had heard about. It seemsabout a year since we started. "

"How many were in your party?" asked the young man. 

"Just papa and my brother, and Mr. Hamar, a friend of my father's, "answered the girl, her cheeks reddening at the memory of the name. 

"But was there no guide, no native with you at all?" There was anxietyin the young man's tone. He had visions of other lost people who wouldhave to be looked after. 

"Oh, yes, there was the man my father had written to, who brought thehorses, and two or three men with him, some of them Indians, I think. His name was Bunce, Mr. Bunce. He was a queer man with a lot of wildlooking hair. "

"Shag Bunce, " said the missionary thoughtfully. "But if Shag was along Icannot understand how you came to get so widely separated from yourparty. He rides the fastest horse in this region. No pony of his outfit, be he ever so fleet, could get far ahead of Shag Bunce. He would havecaught you within a few minutes. What happened? Was there an accident?"

He looked at her keenly, feeling sure there was some mystery behind herwanderings that he ought to unravel for the sake of the girl and herfriends. Hazel's cheeks grew rosy. 

"Why, nothing really happened, " she said evasively. "Mr. Bunce was aheadwith my father. In fact he was out of sight when my pony started to run. I was riding with Mr. Hamar, and as we didn't care anything about themine we didn't hurry. Before we realized it the others were far aheadover a hill or something, I forget what was ahead, only they couldn't beseen. Then we--I--that is--well, I must have touched my pony pretty hardwith my whip and he wheeled and started to run. I'm not sure but Itouched Mr. Hamar's horse, too, and he was behaving badly. I reallyhadn't time to see. I don't know what became of Mr. Hamar. He isn't muchof a horseman. I don't believe he had ever ridden before. He may havehad some trouble with his horse. Anyway before I knew it I was out ofsight of everything but wide empty stretches with mountains and cloudsat the end everywhere, and going on and on and not getting any nearer toany thing. "

"This Mr. Hamar must have been a fool not to have given an alarm to yourfriends at once if he could do nothing himself, " said Brownleighsternly. "I cannot understand how it could happen that no one found yousooner. It was the merest chance that I came upon your whip and otherlittle things and so grew anxious lest some one was lost. It is verystrange that no one found you before this. Your father will have beenvery anxious. "

Hazel sat up with flaming cheeks and began to gather her hair in a knot. A sudden realization of her position had come upon her and given herstrength. 

"Well, you see, " she stumbled, trying to explain without tellinganything, "Mr. Hamar might have thought I had gone back to the car, orhe might have thought I would turn back in a few minutes. I do not thinkhe would have wanted to follow me just then. I was--angry with him!"

The young missionary looked at the beautiful girl sitting upright on thecanvas he had spread for her bed, trying vainly to reduce her brighthair to something like order, her cheeks glowing, her eyes shining now, half with anger, half with embarrassment, and for a second he pitied theone who had incurred her wrath. A strange unreasoning anger towards theunknown man took possession of him, and his face grew tender as hewatched the girl. 

"That was no excuse for letting you go alone into the perils of thedesert, " he said severely. "He could not have known. It was impossiblethat he could have understood or he would have risked his life to saveyou from what you have been through. No man could do otherwise!"

Hazel looked up, surprised at the vehemence of the words, and again thecontrast between the two men struck her forcibly. 

"I am afraid, " she murmured looking off towards the distant mountainsthoughtfully, "that he isn't much of a man. "

And somehow the young missionary was relieved to hear her say so. Therewas a moment's embarrassed silence and then Brownleigh began to searchin his pocket, as he saw the golden coil of hair beginning to slip loosefrom its knot again. 

"Will these help you any?" he asked handing out the comb and hairpins hehad found, a sudden awkwardness coming upon him. 

"Oh, my own comb!" she exclaimed. "And hairpins! Where did you findthem? Indeed they will help, " and she seized upon them eagerly. 

He turned away embarrassed, marvelling at the touch of her fingers asshe took the bits of shell from his hand. No woman's hand like that hadtouched his own, even in greeting, since he bade good-bye to his invalidmother and came out to these wilds to do his work. It thrilled him tothe very soul and he was minded of the sweet awe that had come upon himin his own cabin as he looked upon the little articles of woman's toiletlying upon his table as if they were at home. He could not understandhis own mood. It seemed like weakness. He turned aside and frowned athimself for his foolish sentimentality towards a stranger whom he hadfound upon the desert. He laid it to the weariness of the long journeyand the sleepless night. 

"I found them in the sand. They showed me the way to find you, " he said, trying vainly to speak in a commonplace tone. But somehow his voiceseemed to take on a deep significance. He looked at her shyly, halffearing she must feel it, and then murmuring something about lookingafter the horses he hurried away. 

When he came back she had mastered the rebellious hair, and it layshining and beautiful, braided and coiled about her shapely head. Shewas standing now, having shaken down and smoothed out the rumpled ridinghabit, and had made herself look quite fresh and lovely in spite of thelimited toilet conveniences. 

He caught his breath as he saw her. The two regarded one anotherintensely for just an instant, each startlingly conscious of the other'spersonality, as men and women will sometimes get a glimpse beyond merebody and sight the soul. Each was aware of a thrilling pleasure in thepresence of the other. It was something new and wonderful that could notbe expressed nor even put into thoughts as yet but something none theless real that flashed along their consciousness like the song of thenative bird, the scent of the violet, the breath of the morning. 

The instant of soul recognition passed and then each recoveredself-possession, but it was the woman who spoke first. 

"I feel very much more respectable, " she laughed pleasantly. "Where ismy vicious little horse? Isn't it time we were getting back?"

Then a cloud of anxiety came over the brightness of the man's face. 

"That is what I was coming to tell you, " he said in a troubled tone. "The wicked little beast has eaten off his hobble and fled. There isn'ta sight of him to be seen far or wide. He must have cleared out while wewere at dinner, for he was munching grass peaceably enough before youwoke up. It was careless of me not to make him more secure. The hobblewas an old one and worn, but the best I had. I came back to tell youthat I must ride after him at once. You won't be afraid to stay alonefor a little while, will you? My horse has had a rest. I think I oughtto be able to catch him. "

V

THE TRAIL

But the look of horror in the eyes of the girl stopped him. 

She gave a quick frightened glance around and then her eyes besoughthim. All the terror of the night alone in the wideness returned uponher. She heard again the howl of the coyotes, and saw the long darkshadows in the canyon. She was white to the lips with the thought of it. 

"Oh, don't leave me alone!" she said trying to speak bravely. "I don'tfeel as if I could stand it. There are wild beasts around"--she glancedfurtively behind her as if even now one was slyly tracking her--"it wasawful--awful! Their howls! And it is so alone here!--I never was alonebefore!"

There was that in her appealing helplessness that gave him a wild desireto stoop and fold her in his arms and tell her he would never leave herwhile she wanted him. The colour came and went in his fine bronzed face, and his eyes grew tender with feeling. 

"I won't leave you, " he said gently, "not if you feel that way, thoughthere is really no danger here in daytime. The wild creatures are veryshy and only show themselves at night. But if I do not find your horsehow are you to get speedily back to your friends? It is a long distanceyou have come, and you could not ride alone. "

Her face grew troubled. 

"Couldn't I walk?" she suggested. "I'm a good walker. I've walked fivemiles at once many a time. "

"We are at least forty miles from the railroad, " he smiled back at her, "and the road is rough, over a mountain by the nearest way. Your horsemust have been determined indeed to take you so far in one day. He isevidently a new purchase of Shag's and bent on returning to his nativeheath. Horses do that sometimes. It is their instinct. I'll tell youwhat I'll do. It may be that he has only gone down in the valley to thewater-hole. There is one not far away, I think. I'll go to the edge ofthe mesa and get a view. If he is not far away you can come with meafter him. Just sit here and watch me. I'll not go out of your sight orhearing, and I'll not be gone five minutes. You'll not be afraid?"

She sat down obediently where he bade her, her eyes large with fear, forshe dreaded the loneliness of the desert more than any fear that hadever visited her before. 

"I promise I'll not go beyond your sight and call, " he reassured her andwith a smile turned towards his own horse, and swinging himself into thesaddle galloped rapidly away to the edge of the mesa. 

She watched him riding away, her fears almost forgotten in heradmiration of him, her heart beating strangely with the memory of hissmile. The protection of it seemed to linger behind him, and quiet heranxiety. 

He rode straight to the east, and then more slowly turned and skirtedthe horizon, riding north along the edge of the mesa. She saw him shadehis eyes with his hand and look away in all directions. At last after aprolonged gaze straight north he wheeled his horse and came quickly backto her. 

His face was grave as he dismounted. 

"I've sighted him, " he said, "but it's no use. He has three or fourmiles start, and a steep hill climbed. When he reaches the top of thenext mesa he has a straight course before him, and probably down-hillafter that. It might take me three or four hours to catch him and it's aquestion if I could do it then. We'll have to dismiss him from ourarrangements and get along with Billy. Do you feel equal to riding now?Or ought you to rest again?"

"Oh, I can ride, but--I cannot take your horse. What will you do?"

"I shall do nicely, " he answered smiling again; "only our progress willbe slower than if we had both horses. What a pity that I had not takenoff his saddle! It would have been more comfortable for you than this. But I was searching so anxiously for the rider that I took little heedto the horse except to hastily hobble him. And when I found you youneeded all my attention. Now I advise you to lie down and rest until Iget packed up. It won't take me long. "

She curled down obediently to rest until he was ready to fold up thecanvas on which she lay, and watched his easy movements as he puttogether the few articles of the pack, and arranged the saddle for hercomfort. Then he strode over to her. 

"With your permission, " he said and stooping picked her up lightly inhis arms and placed her on the horse. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said, "but you are not equal to the exertion ofmounting in the ordinary way. You will need every bit of strength forthe ride. You are weaker than you realize. "

Her laugh rippled out faintly. 

"You make me feel like an insignificant baby. I didn't know what washappening until you had me here. You must have the strength of a giant. I never felt so little before. "

"You are not a heavy burden, " he said smiling. "Now are you quitecomfortable? If so we'll start. "

Billy arched his neck and turned his head proudly to survey his newrider, a look of friendliness on his bay face and in his kindly eye. 

"Oh, isn't he a beauty!" exclaimed the girl reaching out a timid hand topat his neck. The horse bowed and almost seemed to smile. Brownleighnoticed the gleam of a splendid jewel on the little hand. 

"Billy is my good friend and constant companion, " said the missionary. "We've faced some long, hard days together. He is wanting me to tell younow that he is proud to carry you back to your friends. "

Billy bowed up and down and smiled again, and Hazel laughed out withpleasure. Then her face grew sober again. 

"But you will have to walk, " she said. "I cannot take your horse andlet you walk. I won't do that. I'm going to walk with you. "

"And use up what strength you have so that you could not even ride?" hesaid pleasantly. "No, I couldn't allow that, you know, and I am pleasedto walk with a companion. A missionary's life is pretty lonesomesometimes, you know. Come, Billy, we must be starting, for we want tomake a good ten miles before we stop to rest if our guest can stand thejourney. "

With stately steppings as if he knew he bore a princess Billy started;and with long, easy strides Brownleigh walked by his side, ever watchfulof the way, and furtively observing the face of the girl, whose strengthhe well knew must be extremely limited after her ride of the day before. 

Out on the top of the mesa looking off towards the great mountains andthe wide expanse of seemingly infinite shades and colourings Hazel drewher breath in wonder at the beauty of the scene. Her companion calledher attention to this and that point of interest. The slender dark lineacross the plain was mesquite. He told her how when once they hadentered it it would seem to spread out vastly as though it filled thewhole valley, and that then looking back the grassy slope below themwould seem to be an insignificant streak of yellow. He told her it wasalways so in this land, that the kind of landscape through which one waspassing filled the whole view and seemed the only thing in life. He saidhe supposed it was so in all our lives, that the immediate presentfilled the whole view of the future until we came to something else; andthe look in his eyes made her turn from the landscape and wonder abouthim and his life. 

Then he stooped and pointed to a clump of soapweed, and idly broke off abit of another bush, handing it to her. 

"The Indians call it 'the weed that was not scared, '" he said. "Isn't itan odd suggestive name?"

"It must be a brave little weed indeed to live out here all alone underthis terribly big sky. I wouldn't like it even if I were only a weed, "and she looked around and shivered with the thought of her fearful ridealone in the night. But she tucked the little spray of brave green intothe buttonhole of her riding habit and it looked of prouder lineage thanany weed as it rested against the handsome darkness of the rich greencloth. For an instant the missionary studied the picture of the lovelygirl on the horse and forgot that he was only a missionary. Then with astart he came to himself. They must be getting on, for the sun hadalready passed its zenith, and the way was long before them. His eyeslingered wistfully on the gleam of her hair where the sun touched itinto burnished gold. Then he remembered. 

"By the way, is this yours?" he asked, and brought out of his pocket thelittle velvet cap. 

"Oh, where did you find it?" she cried, settling it on her head like atouch of velvet in a crown. "I dropped it in front of a tiny littlecabin when my last hope vanished. I called and called but the wind threwmy voice back into my throat and no one came out to answer me. "

"It was my house, " he said. "I found it on a sage-bush a few feet frommy own door. Would that I had been at home to answer your call!"

"Your house!" she exclaimed, in wonder. "Oh, why, it couldn't have been. It wasn't big enough for anybody--not anybody like you--to live in. Why, it wasn't anything more than a--a shed, --just a little board shanty. "

"Exactly; my shack!" he said half apologetically, half comically. "Youshould see the inside. It's not so bad as it looks. I only wish I couldtake you that way, but the fact is it's somewhat out of the way to therailroad, and we must take the short cut if we want to shorten yourfather's anxiety. Do you feel able to go on further now?"

"Oh, yes, quite, " she said with sudden trouble in her face. "Papa willbe very much worried, and Aunt Maria--oh, Aunt Maria will be wild withanxiety. She will tell me that this is just what she expected from mygoing out riding in this heathen land. She warned me not to go. She saidit wasn't ladylike. "

As they went on gradually she told him all about her people, describingtheir little idiosyncrasies; her aunt, her brother, her father, her maidand even the fat man cook. The young man soon had the picture of theprivate car with all its luxuries, and the story of the days of travelthat had been one long fairy tale of pleasure. Only the man Hamar wasnot mentioned; but the missionary had not forgotten him. Somehow he hadtaken a dislike to him from the first mention of his name. He blamed himfiercely for not having come after the maiden, yet blessed the fortunethat had given himself that honour. 

They were descending into the canyon now, but not by the steep trail upwhich the pony had taken her the night before. However it was roughenough and the descent, though it was into the very heart of nature'sbeauty storehouse, yet frightened Hazel. She started at every steepplace, and clutched at the saddle wildly, pressing her white teeth hardinto her under lip until it grew white and tense. Her face was whitealso, and a sudden faintness seemed to come upon her. Brownleigh noticedinstantly, and walking close beside the horse, guiding carefully hisevery step, he put his free arm about her to steady her, and bade herlean towards him and not be afraid. 

His strength steadied her and gave her confidence; and his pleasantvoice pointing out the beauties of the way helped her to forget herfright. He made her look up and showed her how the great ferns werehanging over in a fringe of green at the top of the bare rocks above, their delicate lacery standing out like green fretwork against the blueof the sky. He pointed to a cave in the rocks far above, and told her ofthe dwellers of old who had hollowed it out for a home; of the stoneaxes and jars of clay, the corn mills and sandals woven of yucca thatwere found there; and of other curious cave-houses in this part of thecountry; giving in answer to her wondering questions much curiousinformation, the like of which she had never heard before. 

Then when they were fairly down in the shadows of the canyon he broughther a cooling draught of spring water in the tin cup, and lifting herunexpectedly from the horse made her sit in a mossy spot where sweetflowers clustered about, and rest for a few minutes, for he knew theride down the steep path had been terribly trying to her nerves. 

Yet all his attentions to her, whether lifting her to and from thesaddle, or putting his arm about her to support her on the way, wereperformed with such grace of courtesy as to remove all personality fromhis touch, and she marvelled at it while she sat and rested and watchedhim from the distance watering Billy at a noisy little stream thatchattered through the canyon. 

He put her on the horse again and they took their way through thecoolness and beauty of the canyon winding along the edge of the littlestream, threading their way among the trees, and over boulders and roughplaces until at last in the late afternoon they came out again upon theplain. 

The missionary looked anxiously at the sun. It had taken longer to comethrough the canyon than he had anticipated. The day was waning. Hequickened Billy into a trot and settled into a long athletic run besidehim, while the girl's cheeks flushed with the exercise and wind, and heradmiration of her escort grew. 

"But aren't you very tired?" she asked at last when he slowed down andmade Billy walk again. Billy, by the way, had enjoyed the raceimmensely. He thought he was having a grand time with a princess on hisback and his beloved master keeping pace with him. He was confident bythis time that they were bringing the princess home to be there towelcome them on all returns hereafter. His horse-sense had jumped to aconclusion and approved most heartily. 

"Tired!" answered Brownleigh and laughed; "not consciously. I'm good forseveral miles yet myself. I haven't had such a good time in three years, not since I left home--and mother, " he added softly, reverently. 

There was a look in his eyes that made the girl long to know more. Shewatched him keenly and asked:

"Oh, then you have a mother!"

"Yes, I have a mother, --a wonderful mother!" He breathed the words likea blessing. The girl looked at him in awe. She had no mother. Her ownhad died before she could remember. Aunt Maria was her only idea ofmothers. 

"Is she out here?" she asked. 

"No, she is at home up in New Hampshire in a little quiet country town, but she is a wonderful mother. "

"And have you no one else, no other family out here with you?"

Hazel did not realize how anxiously she awaited the answer to thatquestion. Somehow she felt a jealous dislike of any one who might belongto him, even a mother--and a sudden thought of sister or wife who mightshare the little shanty cabin with him made her watch his face narrowly. But the answer was quick, with almost a shadow like deep longing on hisface:

"Oh, no, I have no one. I'm all alone. And sometimes if it were not formother's letters it would seem a great way from home. "

The girl did not know why it was so pleasant to know this, and why herheart went out in instant sympathy for him. 

"O-oo!" she said gently. "Tell me about your mother, please!"

And so he told her, as he walked beside her, of his invalid mother whosefrail body and its needs bound her to a couch in her old New Englandhome, helpless and carefully tended by a devoted nurse whom she lovedand who loved her. Her great spirit had risen to the sacrifice ofsending her only son out to the desert on his chosen commission. 

They had been climbing a long sloping hill, and at the climax of thestory had reached the top and could look abroad again over a wideexpanse of country. It seemed to Hazel's city bred eyes as though thekingdoms of the whole world lay spread before her awed gaze. A brilliantsunset was spreading a great silver light behind the purple mountains inthe west, red and blue in flaming lavishness, with billows of whiteclouds floating above, and over that in sharp contrast the sky wasvelvet black with storm. To the south the rain was falling in abrilliant shower like yellow gold, and to the east two more patches ofrain were rosy pink as petals of some wondrous flowers, and arching overthem a half rainbow. Turning slightly towards the north one saw the rainfalling from dark blue clouds in great streaks of white light. 

"Oh-oo!" breathed the girl; "how wonderful! I never saw anything likethat before. "

But the missionary had no time for answer. He began quickly to unstrapthe canvas from behind the saddle, watching the clouds as he did so. 

"We are going to get a wetting, I'm afraid, " he said and lookedanxiously at his companion. 

VI

CAMP

It came indeed before he was quite ready for it, but he managed to throwthe canvas over horse and lady, bidding her hold it on one side whilehe, standing close under the extemporized tent, held the other side, leaving an opening in front for air, and so they managed to keeptolerably dry, while two storms met overhead and poured down a torrentupon them. 

The girl laughed out merrily as the first great splashes struck herface, then retreated into the shelter as she was bidden and sat quietlywatching, and wondering over it all. 

Here was she, a carefully nurtured daughter of society, until now neverdaring to step one inch beyond the line of conventionality, sitting afarfrom all her friends and kindred on a wide desert plain, under a bit ofcanvas with a strange missionary's arm about her, and sitting assecurely and contentedly, nay happily, as if she had been in her owncushioned chair in her New York boudoir. It is true the arm was abouther for the purpose of holding down the canvas and keeping out therain, but there was a wonderful security and sense of strength in itthat filled her with a strange new joy and made her wish that theelements of the universe might continue to rage in brilliant displayabout her head a little longer, if thereby she might continue to feelthe strength of that fine presence near her and about her. A greatweariness was upon her and this was rest and content, so she put allother thoughts out of her mind for the time and rested back against thestrong arm in full realization of her safety amidst the disturbance ofthe elements. 

The missionary wore his upward look. No word passed between them as thepanorama of the storm swept by. Only God knew what was passing in hissoul, and how out of that dear nearness of the beautiful girl a greatlonging was born to have her always near him, his right to ever protecther from the storms of life. 

But he was a man of marked self-control. He held even his thoughts inobedience to a higher power, and while the wild wish of his heart sweptexquisitely over him he stood calmly, and handed it back to heaven asthough he knew it were a wandering wish, a testing of his true self. 

At the first instant of relief from necessity he took his arm away. Hedid not presume a single second to hold the canvas after the wind hadsubsided, and she liked him the better for it, and felt her trust in himgrow deeper as he gently shook the raindrops from their temporaryshelter. 

The rain had lasted but a few minutes, and as the clouds cleared theearth grew lighter for a space. Gently melting into the silver andamethyst and emerald of the sky the rainbow faded and now they hurriedon, for Brownleigh wished to reach a certain spot where he hoped to finddry shelter for the night. He saw that the excitement of travel and thestorm had sorely spent the strength of the girl, and that she neededrest, so he urged the horse forward, and hurried along by his side. 

But suddenly he halted the horse and looked keenly into the face of hiscompanion in the dying light. 

"You are very tired, " he said. "You can hardly sit up any longer. "

She smiled faintly. 

Her whole body was drooping with weariness and a strange sick faintnesshad come upon her. 

"We must stop here, " he said and cast about him for a suitable spot. "Well, this will do. Here is a dry place, the shelter of that big rock. The rain was from the other direction, and the ground around here didnot even get sprinkled. That group of trees will do for a private roomfor you. We'll soon have a fire and some supper and then you'll feelbetter. "

With that he stripped off his coat and, spreading it upon the ground inthe dry shelter of a great rock, lifted the drooping girl from thesaddle and laid her gently on the coat. 

She closed her eyes wearily and sank back. In truth she was nearer tofainting than she had ever been in her life, and the young man hastenedto administer a restorative which brought the colour back to her palecheeks. 

"It is nothing, " she murmured, opening her eyes and trying to smile. "Iwas just tired, and my back ached with so much riding. "

"Don't talk!" he said gently. "I'll give you something to hearten you upin a minute. "

He quickly gathered sticks and soon had a blazing fire not far fromwhere she lay, and the glow of it played over her face and her goldenhair, while he prepared a second cup of beef extract, and blessed thefortune that had made him fill his canteen with water at the spring inthe canyon, for water might not be very near, and he felt that to haveto move the girl further along that night would be a disaster. He couldsee that she was about used up. But while he was making preparations forsupper, Billy, who was hobbled but entirely able to edge about slowly, had discovered a water-hole for himself, and settled that difficulty. Brownleigh drew a sigh of relief, and smiled happily as he saw hispatient revive under the influence of the hot drink and a few minutes'rest. 

"I'm quite able to go on a little further, " she said, sitting up with aneffort, "if you think we should go further to-night. I really don't feelbad at all any more. "

He smiled with relief. 

"I'm so glad, " he said; "I was afraid I had made you travel too far. No, we'll not go further till daylight, I think. This is as good a place tocamp as any, and water not far away. You will find your boudoir justinside that group of trees, and in half an hour or so the canvas will bequite dry for your bed. I've got it spread out, you see, close to thefire on the other side there. And it wasn't wet through. The blanket wassheltered. It will be warm and dry. I think we can make youcomfortable. Have you ever slept out under the stars before--that is, ofcourse, with the exception of last night? I don't suppose you reallyenjoyed that experience. "

Hazel shuddered at the thought. 

"I don't remember much, only awful darkness and howling. Will thosecreatures come this way, do you think? I feel as if I should die withfright if I have to hear them again. "

"You may hear them in the distance, but not nearby, " he answeredreassuringly; "they do not like the fire. They will not come near nordisturb you. Besides, I shall be close at hand all night. I am used tolistening and waking in the night. I shall keep a bright fire blazing. "

"But you--you--what will you do? You are planning to give me the canvasand the blanket, and stay awake yourself keeping watch. You have walkedall day while I have ridden, and you have been nurse and cook as well, while I have been good for nothing. And now you want me to restcomfortably all night while you sit up. "

There was a ring in the young man's voice as he answered her thatthrilled her to the heart. 

"I shall be all right, " he said, and his voice was positively joyous, "and I shall have the greatest night of my life taking care of you. Icount it a privilege. Many a night have I slept alone under the starswith no one to guard, and felt the loneliness. Now I shall always havethis to remember. Besides, I shall not sit up. I am used to throwingmyself down anywhere. My clothing is warm, and my saddle is used toacting as a pillow. I shall sleep and rest, and yet be always on thealert to keep up the fire and hear any sound that comes near. " He talkedas though he were recounting the plan of some delightful recreation, andthe girl lay and watched his handsome face in the play of the firelightand rejoiced in it. Somehow there was something very sweet incompanionship alone in the vast silence with this stranger friend. Shefound herself glad of the wideness of the desert and the stillness ofthe night that shut out the world and made their most unusualrelationship possible for a little while. A great longing possessed herto know more and understand better the fine personality of this man whowas a man among men, she was convinced. 

Suddenly as he came and sat down by the fire not far from her afterattending to the few supper dishes, she burst forth with a question:

"Why did you do it?"

He turned to her eyes that were filled with a deep content and asked, "Do what?"

"Come here! Be a missionary! Why did you do it? You are fitted forbetter things. You could fill a large city church, or--even do otherthings in the world. Why did you do it?"

The firelight flickered on his face and showed his features fine andstrong in an expression of deep feeling that gave it an exalted look. There seemed a light in his eyes that was more than firelight as heraised them upward in a swift glance and said quietly, as though it werethe simplest matter in the universe:

"Because my Father called me to this work. And--I doubt if there can beany better. Listen!"

And then he told her of his work while the fire burned cheerfully, andthe dusk grew deeper, till the moon showed clear her silver orb ridinghigh in starry heavens. 

The mournful voice of the coyotes echoed distantly, but the girl was notfrightened, for her thoughts were held by the story of the strangechildlike race for whom this man among men was giving his life. 

He told her of the Indian hogans, little round huts built of logs onend, and slanting to a common centre thatched with turf and straw, anopening for a door and another in the top to let out the smoke of thefire, a dirt floor, no furniture but a few blankets, sheepskins, andsome tin dishes. He carried her in imagination to one such hogan wherelay the little dying Indian maiden and made the picture of their barrenlives so vivid that tears stood in her eyes as she listened. He told ofthe medicine-men, the ignorance and superstition, the snake dances andheathen rites; the wild, poetic, conservative man of the desert with hisdistrust, his great loving heart, his broken hopes and blindaspirations; until Hazel began to see that he really loved them, that hehad seen the possibility of greatness in them, and longed to helpdevelop it. 

He told her of the Sabbath just past, when in company with his distantneighbour missionary he had gone on an evangelistic tour among thetribes far away from the mission station. He pictured the Indianssitting on rocks and stones amid the long shadows of the cedar trees, just before the sundown, listening to a sermon. He had reminded them oftheir Indian god Begochiddi and of Nilhchii whom the Indians believe tohave made all things, the same whom white men call God; and showed thema book called the Bible which told the story of God, and of Jesus HisSon who came to save men from their sin. Not one of the Indians had everheard the name of Jesus before, nor knew anything of the great story ofsalvation. 

Hazel found herself wondering why it made so very much differencewhether these poor ignorant creatures knew all this or not, and yet shesaw from the face of the man before her that it did matter, infinitely. To him it mattered more than anything else. A passing wish that she werean Indian to thus hold his interest flashed through her mind, but he wasspeaking yet of his work, and his rapt look filled her with awe. She wasoverwhelmed with the greatness and the fineness of the man before her. Sitting there in the fitful firelight, with its ruddy glow upon hisface, his hat off and the moon laying a silver crown upon his head, heseemed half angel, half god. She had never before been so filled withthe joy of beholding another soul. She had no room for thoughts ofanything else. 

Then suddenly he remembered that it was late. 

"I have kept you awake far too long, " he said penitently, looking ather with a smile that seemed all tenderness. "We ought to get on our wayas soon as it is light, and I have made you listen to me when you oughtto have been sleeping. But I always like to have a word with my Fatherbefore retiring. Shall we have our worship together?"

Hazel, overcome by wonder and embarrassment, assented and lay still inher sheltered spot watching him as he drew a small leather book from hisbreast pocket and opened to the place marked by a tiny silken cord. Thenstirring up the fire to brightness he began to read and the majesticwords of the ninety-first psalm came to her unaccustomed ears as acharmed page. 

"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide underthe shadow of the Almighty. "

"He shall cover thee with His feathers and under His wings shalt thoutrust. " The words were uttered with a ringing tone of trust. Thelistener knew little of birds and their ways, but the phrasing remindedher of the way she had been sheltered from the storm a little whilebefore and her heart thrilled anew with the thought of it. 

"Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night!"

Ah! Terror by night! She knew what that meant. That awful night ofdarkness, steep riding, howling beasts and black oblivion! She shudderedinvoluntarily at the remembrance. Not afraid! What confidence the voicehad as it rang on, and all at once she knew that this night was freefrom terror for her because of the man whose confidence was in theUnseen. 

"He shall give His angels charge over thee, " and looking at him she halfexpected to see flitting wings in the moonlit background. How strong andtrue the face! How tender the lines about the mouth! What a glow ofinner quietness and power in the eyes as he raised them now and again toher face across the firelight! What a thing it would be to have a friendlike that always to guard one! Her eyes glowed softly at the thought andonce again there flashed across her mind the contrast between this manand the one from whom she had fled in horror the day before. 

The reading ended, he replaced the little marker, and dropping upon oneknee on the desert with his face lifted to the sky and all the radianceof the moon flooding over him he spoke to God as a man speaks with hisfriend, face to face. 

Hazel lay with open, wondering eyes and watched him, awe growing withinher. The sense of an unseen Presence close at hand was so strong thatonce she lifted half frightened eyes to the wide clear sky. The light onthe face of the missionary seemed like glory from another world. 

She felt herself enfolded and upborne into the Presence of the infiniteby his words, and he did not forget to commend her loved ones to thecare of the Almighty. A great peace came upon her as she listened to thesimple, earnest words and a sense of security such as she had neverknown before. 

After the brief prayer he turned to her with a smile and a few words ofassurance about the night. There was her dressing-room behind thosetrees, and she need not be afraid; he would not be far away. He wouldkeep the fire bright all night so that she would not be annoyed by thenear howling of the coyotes. Then he moved away to gather more wood, andshe heard him singing, softly at first, and then gathering volume as hegot further away, his rich tenor voice ringing clear upon the night inan old hymn. The words floated back distinctly to her listening ears:

 "My God, is any hour so sweet From flush of dawn to evening star, As that which calls me to Thy feet, The hour of prayer?

 "Then is my strength by Thee renewed; Then are my sins by Thee forgiven; Then dost Thou cheer my solitude With hopes of heaven. 

 "No words can tell what sweet relief There for my every want I find; What strength for warfare, balm for grief, What peace of mind!"

She lay down for the night marvelling still over the man. He was singingthose words as if he meant every one, and she knew that he possessedsomething that made him different from other men. What was it? It seemedto her that he was the one man of all the earth, and how was it that shehad found him away out here alone in the desert?

The great stars burned sharply in the heavens over her, the whiteradiance of the moon lay all about her, the firelight played at herfeet. Far away she could hear the howling of the coyotes, but she wasnot afraid. 

She could see the broad shoulders of the man as he stooped over on theother side of the fire to throw on more wood. Presently she knew he hadthrown himself down with his head on the saddle, but she could hear himstill humming softly something that sounded like a lullaby. When thefirelight flared up it showed his fine profile. 

Not far away she could hear Billy cropping the grass, and throughout thevast open universe there seemed to brood a great and peaceful silence. She was very tired and her eyelids drooped shut. The last thing sheremembered was a line he had read from the little book, "He shall giveHis angels charge----" and she wondered if they were somewhere aboutnow. 

That was all until she awoke suddenly with the consciousness that shewas alone, and that in the near distance a conversation in a low tonewas being carried on. 

VII

REVELATION

The moon was gone, and the luminous silver atmosphere was turned into aclear dark blue, with shadows of the blackness of velvet; but the starsburned redder now, and nearer to the earth. 

The fire still flickered brightly, with a glow the moon had paled beforeshe went to sleep, but there was no protecting figure on the other sideof the flames, and the angels seemed all to have forgotten. 

Off at a little distance, where a group of sage-brush made densedarkness, she heard the talking. One speaking in low tones, nowpleading, now explaining, deeply earnest, with a mingling of anxiety andtrouble. She could not hear any words. She seemed to know the voice waslow that she might not hear; yet it filled her with a great fear. Whathad happened? Had some one come to harm them, and was he pleading forher life? Strange to say it never entered her head to doubt his loyalty, stranger though he was. Her only feeling was that he might have beenoverpowered in his sleep, and be even now in need of help himself. Whatcould she do?

After the first instant of frozen horror she was on the alert. He hadsaved her, she must help him. She could not hear any other voice thanhis. Probably the enemy spoke in whispers, but she knew that she must goat once and find out what was the matter. The distance from her pleasantcouch beside the fire was but a few steps, yet it seemed to herfrightened heart and trembling limbs, as she crept softly over towardsthe sage-brush, that it was miles. 

At last she was close to the bush, could part it with her cold hand andlook into the little shelter. 

There was a faint light in the east beyond the mountains that showed thecoming dawn, and silhouetted against this she saw the figure of herrescuer, dropped upon one knee, his elbow on the other and his facebowed in his hand. She could hear his words distinctly now, but therewas no man else present, though she searched the darkness carefully. 

"I found her lost out here in the wilderness, " he was saying in low, earnest tones, "so beautiful, so dear! But I know she cannot be for me. Her life has been all luxury and I would not be a man to ask her toshare the desert! I know too that she is not fitted for the work. I knowit would be all wrong, and I must not wish it, but I love her, though Imay not tell her so! I must be resolute and strong, and not show herwhat I feel. I must face my Gethsemane, for this girl is as dear to meas my own soul! God bless and guard her, for I may not. "

The girl had stood rooted to the spot unable to move as the low voicewent on with its revelation, but when the plea for a blessing upon hercame with all the mighty longing of a soul who loved absorbingly, it wasas if she were unable to bear it, and she turned and fled silently backto her couch, creeping under the canvas, thrilled, frightened, shamedand glad all in one. She closed her eyes and the swift tears of joycame. He loved her! He loved her! How the thought thrilled her. How herown heart leaped up to meet his love. The fact of it was all she couldcontain for the time and it filled her with an ecstasy such as she hadnever known before. She opened her eyes to the stars and they shone backa great radiance of joy to her. The quiet darkness of the vast earth allabout her seemed suddenly to have become the sweetest spot she hadknown. She had never thought there could be joy like this. 

Gradually she quieted the wild throbbing of her heart and tried to sether thoughts in order. Perhaps she was taking too much for granted. Perhaps he was talking of another girl, some one he had met the daybefore. But yet it seemed as if there could be no doubt. There would notbe two girls lost out in that desert. There could not--and her hearttold her that he loved her. Could she trust her heart? Oh, the dearnessof it if it were true!

Her face was burning too, with the sweet shame of having heard what wasnot meant for her ears. 

Then came the flash of pain in the joy. He did not intend to tell her. He meant to hide his love--and for her sake! And he was great enough todo so. The man who could sacrifice the things that other men hold dearto come out to the wilderness for the sake of a forgotten, half-savagepeople, could sacrifice anything for what he considered right. This factloomed like a wall of adamant across the lovely way that joy hadrevealed to her. Her heart fell with the thought that he was not tospeak of this to her, --and she knew that more than for anything else inlife, more than anything she had ever known, she longed to hear himspeak those words to her. A half resentment filled her that he had toldhis secret to Another--what concerned her--and would not let her know. 

The heart searching went on, and now she came to the thorn-fact of thewhole revelation. There had been another reason besides care for herselfwhy he could not tell her of his love, --why he could not ask her toshare his life. She had not been accounted worthy. He had put it inpleasant words and said she was unfitted, but he might as well have madeit plain and said how useless she would be in his life. 

The tears came now, tears of mortification, for Hazel Radcliffe hadnever before in all her petted life been accounted unworthy for anyposition. It was not that she considered at all the possibility ofaccepting the position that was not to be offered her. Her startled mindhad not even reached so far; but her pride was hurt to think that anyone should think her unworthy. 

Then over the whole tumultuous state of mind would come the memory ofhis voice throbbing with feeling as he said, "She is dear to me as myown soul, " and the joy of it would sweep everything else away. 

There was no more sleep to be had for her. 

The stars grew pale, and the rose dawn grew in the east. She presentlyheard her companion return and replenish the fire, stirring about softlyamong the dishes, and move away again, but she had turned her head awaythat he might not see her face, and he evidently thought her stillsleeping. 

So she lay and tried to reason things out; tried to scold herself forthinking his words applied to her; tried to recall her city life andfriends, and how utterly alien this man and his work would be to them;tried to think of the new day when she would probably reach her friendsagain and this new friend would be lost sight of; felt a sharp twinge ofpain at the thought; wondered if she could meet Milton Hamar and whatthey would say to one another, and if any sort of comfortable relationscould ever be established between them again; and knew they could not. Once again the great horror rolled over her at thought of his kiss. Thencame the startling thought that he had used almost the same words to herthat this man of the desert had used about her, and yet how infinitelydifferent! How tender and deep and true, and pure and high his face incontrast to the look she had seen upon that handsome, evil face bentover her! She covered her eyes and shuddered again, and entertained afleeting wish that she might stay forever here and not return to hishated presence. 

Then back like a flood-tide of sunshine would come the thought of themissionary and his love for her, and everything else would beobliterated in the rapture it brought. 

And thus on rosy wings the morning dawned, a clean, straight sunrise. 

Hazel could hear the missionary stepping softly here and there preparingbreakfast, and knew he felt it time to be on the move. She must bestirherself and speak, but her cheeks grew pink over the thought of it. Shekept waiting and trying to think how to say good-morning without a lookof guilty knowledge in her eyes. Presently she heard him call to Billyand move away in the direction where the horse was eating his breakfast. Then snatching her opportunity she slipped from under the canvas intoher green boudoir. 

But even here she found evidences of her wise guide's care, for standingin front of the largest cedar were two tin cups of clear water andbeside them a small pocket soap-case and a clean folded handkerchief, fine and white. He had done his best to supply her with toilet articles. 

Her heart leaped up again at his thoughtfulness. She dashed the waterinto her glowing face, and buried it in the clean folds of thehandkerchief--his handkerchief. How wonderful that it should be so! Howhad a mere commonplace bit of linen become so invested with the currentsof life as to give such joyful refreshment with a touch? The wonder ofit all was like a miracle. She had not known anything in life could belike that. 

The great red cliff across the valley was touched with the morning sunwhen she emerged from her green shelter, shyly conscious of the secretthat lay unrevealed between them. 

Their little camp was still in the shadow. The last star had disappearedas if a hand had turned the lights low with a flash and revealed themorning. 

She stood for an instant in the parting of the cedars, a hand on eachside holding back the boughs, looking forth from her retreat; and theman advancing saw her and waited with bared head to do her reverence, agreat light of love in his eyes which he knew not was visible, but whichblinded the eyes of the watching girl, and made her cheeks grow rosier. 

The very air about them seemed charged with an electrical current. Thelittle commonplaces which they spoke sank deep into the heart of eachand lingered to bless the future. The glances of their eyes had manymeetings and lingered shyly on more intimate ground than the day before, yet each had grown more silent. The tenderness of his voice was like abenediction as he greeted her. 

He seated her on the canvas he had arranged freshly beside a bit ofgreen grass, and prepared to serve her like a queen. Indeed she wore aqueenly bearing, small and slender though she was, her golden hairshining in the morning, and her eyes bright as the stars that had justbeen paled by day. 

There were fried rabbits cooking in the tiny saucepan and corn bread wastoasting before the fire on two sharp sticks. She found to her surprisethat she was hungry, and that the breakfast he had prepared seemed amost delicious feast. 

She grew secure in her consciousness that he did not know she hadguessed his secret, and let the joy of it all flow over her and envelopher. Her laugh rang out musically over the plain, and he watched herhungrily, delightedly, enjoying every minute of the companionship witha kind of double joy because of the barren days that he was sure were tocome. 

Finally he broke away from the pleasant lingering with an exclamation, for the sun was hastening upward and it was time they were on their way. Hastily he packed away the things, she trying in her bunglingunaccustomedness to help and only giving sweet hindrance, with thelittle white hands that thrilled him so wonderfully as they came nearwith a plate or a cup, or a bit of corn bread that had been left out. 

He put her on the horse and they started on their way. Yet not once inall the pleasant contact had he betrayed his secret, and Hazel began tofeel the burden of what she had found out weighing guiltily upon herlike a thing stolen which she would gladly replace but dared not. Sometimes, as they rode along, he quietly talking as the day before, pointing out some object of interest, or telling her some remarkablestory of his experiences, she would wonder if she had not been entirelymistaken; heard wrong, maybe, or made more of the words than she shouldhave done. She grew to feel that he could not have meant her at all. Andthen turning suddenly she would find his eyes upon her with a light inthem so tender, so yearning, that she would droop her own in confusionand feel her heart beating wildly with the pleasure and the pain of it. 

About noon they came to a rain-water hole near which were three Indianhogans. Brownleigh explained that he had come this way, a little out ofthe shortest trail, hoping to get another horse so that they mighttravel faster and reach the railroad before sundown. 

The girl's heart went suddenly heavy as he left her sitting on Billyunder a cottonwood tree while he went forward to find out if any one wasat home and whether they had a horse to spare. Of course she wanted tofind her friends and relieve their anxiety as soon as possible, butthere was something in the voice of the young missionary as he spoke ofhastening onward that seemed to build a wall between them. The pleasantintercourse of the morning seemed drawing so quickly to a close: thewonderful sympathy and interest between them pushed with a violent handout of her reach. She felt a choking sensation in her throat as if shewould like to put her head down on Billy's rough neck-locks and sob. 

She tried to reason with herself. It was but a little over twenty-fourhours since she first looked upon this stranger, and yet her heart wasbound to him in such a way that she was dreading their separation. Howcould it be? Such things were not real. People always laughed at suddenlove affairs as if they were impossible, but her heart told her that itwas not merely hours by which they numbered their acquaintance. The soulof this man had been revealed to her in that brief space of time asanother's might not have been in years. She dreaded the ending of thiscompanionship. It would be the end, of course. He had said it, and sheknew his words were true. His world was not her world, more the pity! Hewould never give up his world, and he had said she was unfitted for his. It was all too true--this world of rough, uncouth strangers, and wildemptiness of beauty. But how she longed to have this day with him besideher prolonged indefinitely!

The vision would fade of course when she got back into the world again, and things would assume their normal proportions very likely. But justnow she admitted to herself that she did not want to get back. She wouldbe entirely content if she might wander thus with him in the desert forthe rest of her natural life. 

He came back to her presently accompanied by an Indian boy carrying aniron pot and some fresh mutton. Hazel watched them as they built a fire, arranged the pot full of water to boil, and placed the meat to roast. The missionary was making corn cake which presently was baking in theashes, and giving forth a savoury odour. 

An Indian squaw appeared in the doorway of one of the hogans, her babystrapped to her back, and watched her with great round wondering eyes. Hazel smiled at the little papoose, and it soon dimpled into ananswering smile. Then she discovered that the missionary was watchingthem both, his heart in his eyes, a strange wonderful joy in his face, and her heart-beats quickened. She was pleasing him! It was then as shesmiled back at the child of the forest that she discovered an interestof her own in these neglected people of his. She could not know that thelittle dark-skinned baby whom she had noticed would from this time forthbecome the special tender object of care from the missionary, justbecause she had noticed it. 

They had a merry meal, though not so intimate as the others had been;for a group of Indian women and children huddled outside the nearesthogan watching their every move with wide staring eyes, and stolid butinterested countenances; and the little boy hovered not far away tobring anything they might need. It was all pleasant but Hazel feltimpatient of the interruption when their time together was now so short. She was glad when, mounted on Billy again, and her companion on a roughlittle Indian pony with wicked eyes, they rode away together into thesunshine of the afternoon. 

But now it seemed but a breathless space before they would come into thepresence of people, for the two horses made rapid time, and thedistances flew past them mile by mile, the girl feeling each moment moreshy and embarrassed, and conscious of the words she had overheard in theearly morning. 

It seemed to her a burden she could not carry away unknown upon her souland yet how could she let him know?

VIII

RENUNCIATION

They had entered a strip of silvery sand, about two miles wide, and rodealmost in silence, for a singular shyness had settled upon them. 

The girl was conscious of his eyes upon her with a kind of tenderyearning as if he would impress the image on his mind for the time whenshe would be with him no more. Each had a curious sense of understandingthe other's thoughts, and needing no words. But as they neared a greatrustling stretch of corn he looked at her keenly again and spoke:

"You are very tired, I'm sure. " It was not a question but she lifted hereyes to deny it, and a flood-tide of sweet colour swept over the cheeks. "I knew it, " he said, searching her raised eyes. "We must stop and restafter we have passed through this corn. There is a spot under some treeswhere you will be sheltered from the sun. This corn lasts only a mile orso more, and after you have rested we will have only a short distanceto go"--he caught his breath as though the words hurt him--"our journeyis almost over!" They rode in silence through the corn, but when it waspassed and they were seated beneath the trees the girl lifted her eyesto him filled with unspeakable things. 

"I haven't known how to thank you, " she said earnestly, the tears almostin evidence. 

"Don't, please!" he said gently. "It has been good to me to be with you. How good you never can know. " He paused and then looked keenly at her. 

"Did you rest well last night, your first night under the stars? Did youhear the coyotes, or feel at all afraid?"

Her colour fled, and she dropped her glance to Billy's neck, while herheart throbbed painfully. 

He saw how disturbed she was. 

"You were afraid, " he charged gently. "Why didn't you call? I was closeat hand all the time. What frightened you?"

"Oh, it was nothing!" she said evasively. "It was only for a minute. "

"Tell me, please!" his voice compelled her. 

"It was just for a minute, " she said again, speaking rapidly and tryingto hide her embarrassment. "I woke and thought I heard talking and youwere not in sight; but it was not long before you came back with anarmful of wood, and I saw it was almost morning. "

Her cheeks were rosy, as she lifted her clear eyes to meet his searchinggaze and tried to face him steadily, but he looked into the very depthsof her soul and saw the truth. She felt her courage going from her, andtried to turn her gaze carelessly away, but could not. 

At last he said in a low voice full of feeling:

"You heard me?"

Her eyes, which he had held with his look, wavered, faltered, anddrooped. "I was afraid, " he said as her silence confirmed hisconviction. "I heard some one stirring. I looked and thought I saw yougoing back to your couch. " There was grave self-reproach in his tone, but no reproach for her. Nevertheless her heart burned with shame andher eyes filled with tears. She hid her glowing face in her hands andcried out:

"I am so sorry. I did not mean to be listening. I thought from the toneof your voice you were in trouble. I was afraid some one had attackedyou, and perhaps I could do something to help----"

"You poor child!" he said deeply moved. "How unpardonable of me tofrighten you. It is my habit of talking aloud when I am alone. The greatloneliness out here has cultivated it. I did not realize that I mightdisturb you. What must you think of me? What _can_ you think?"

"Think!" she burst forth softly. "I think you are all wrong to try tokeep a thing like that to yourself!"

And then the full meaning of what she had said broke upon her, and herface crimsoned with embarrassment. 

But he was looking at her with an eager light in his eyes. 

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Won't you please explain?"

Hazel was sitting now with her face entirely turned away, and the softhair blowing concealingly about her burning cheeks. She felt as if shemust get up and run away into the desert and end this terribleconversation. She was getting in deeper and deeper every minute. 

"Please!" said the gentle, firm voice. 

"Why, I--think--a--a--woman--has a right--to know--a thing like that!"she faltered desperately. 

"Why?" asked the voice again after a pause. 

"Because--she--she--might not ever--she might not ever know there wassuch a love for a woman in the world!" she stammered, still with herhead turned quite away from him. She felt that she could never turnaround and face this wonderful man of the desert again. She wished theground would open and show her some comfortable way of escape. 

The pause this time was long, so long that it frightened her, but shedared not turn and look at him. If she had done so she would have seenthat he was sitting with bowed head for some time, in deep meditation, and that at last he lifted his glance to the sky again as if to ask aswift permission. Then he spoke. 

"A man has no right to tell a woman he loves her when he cannot ask herto marry him. "

"That, " said the girl, her throat throbbing painfully, "_that_ hasnothing to do with it. I--was--not talking about--marrying! But I thinkshe has a right to know. It would--make a difference all her life!" Herthroat was dry and throbbing. The words seemed to stick as she tried toutter them, yet they would be said. She longed to hide her burning facein some cool shelter and get away from this terrible talk, but shecould only sit rigidly quiet, her fingers fastened tensely in the coarsegrass at her side. 

There was a longer silence now, and still she dared not look at the man. 

A great eagle appeared in the heaven above and sailed swiftly andstrongly towards a mountain peak. Hazel had a sense of her ownsmallness, and of the fact that her words had made an exquisite anguishfor the soul of her companion, yet she could not think of anything tosay that would better matters. At last he spoke, and his voice was likeone performing a sad and sacred rite for one tenderly beloved:

"And now that you know I love you can it possibly make any difference toyou?"

Hazel tried three times to answer, but every time her trembling lipswould frame no words. Then suddenly her face went into her hands and thetears came. She felt as if a benediction had been laid upon her head, and the glory of it was greater than she could bear. 

The man watched her, his arms longing to enfold her and soothe heragitation, but he would not. His heart was on fire with the sweetnessand the pain of the present moment, yet he could not take advantage oftheir situation upon the lonely plain, and desecrate the beauty of thetrust she had put upon him. 

Then her strength came again, and she raised her head and looked intohis waiting eyes with a trembling, shy glance, yet true and earnest. 

"It will make a difference--to me!" she said. "I shall never feel quitethe same towards life again because I know there is such a wonderful manin the world. "

She had fine control of her voice now, and was holding back the tears. Her manner of the world was coming to her aid. He must not see how muchthis was to her, how very much. She put out a little cold hand and laidit timidly in his big brown one, and he held it a moment and looked downat it in great tenderness, closed his fingers over it in a strong clasp, then laid it gently back in her lap as though it were too precious tokeep. Her heart thrilled and thrilled again at his touch. 

"Thank you, " he said simply, a great withdrawing in his tone. "But Icannot see how you can think well of me. I am an utter stranger to you. I have no right to talk of such things to you. "

"You did not tell me, " answered Hazel. "You told--God. " Her voice wasslow and low with awe. "I only overheard. It was my fault--but--I amnot--sorry. It was a great--thing to hear!"

He watched her shy dignity as she talked, her face drooping and halfturned away. She was exquisitely beautiful in her confusion. His wholespirit yearned towards hers. 

"I feel like a monster, " he said suddenly. "You know I love you, but youdo not understand how, in this short time even, you have filled my life, my whole being. And yet I may not ever try or hope to win your love inreturn. It must seem strange to you----"

"I think I understand, " she said in a low voice; "you spoke of all thatin the night--you know. " It seemed as if she shrank from hearing itagain. 

"Will you let me explain it thoroughly to you?"

"If--you think best. " She turned her face away and watched the eagle, now a mere speck in the distance. 

"You see it is this way. I am not free to do as I might wish--as othermen are free. I have consecrated my life to the service of God in thisplace. I know--I knew when I came here--that it was no place to bring awoman. There are few who could stand the life. It is filled withprivations and hardships. They are inevitable. You are used to tendercare and luxury. No man could ask a sacrifice like that of a woman heloved. He would not be a man if he did. It is not like marrying a girlwho has felt the call herself, and loves to give her life to the work. That would be a different matter. But a man has no right to expect it ofa woman----" he paused to find the right words and Hazel in a smallstill voice of dignity reminded him:

"You are forgetting one of the reasons. "

"Forgetting?" he turned towards her wonderingly and their eyes met forjust an instant, then hers were turned away again. 

"Yes, " she went on inscrutably. "You thought I--was not--fit!"

She was pulling up bits of green from the ground beside her. She felt afrightened flutter in her throat. It was the point of the thorn that hadremained in her heart. It was not in nature for her not to speak of it, yet when it was spoken she felt how it might be misunderstood. 

But the missionary made answer in a kind of cry like some hurt creature. 

"Not fit! Oh, my dear! You do not understand----"

There was that in his tone that extracted the last bit of ranklingthorn from Hazel's heart and brought the quick blood to her cheeksagain. 

With a light laugh that echoed with relief and a deep new joy which shedared not face as yet, she sprang to her feet. 

"Oh, yes, I understand, " she said gaily, "and it's all true. I'm not abit fit for a missionary. But oughtn't we to be moving on? I'm quiterested now. "

With a face that was grave to sadness he acquiesced, fastening thecanvas in place on the saddle, and putting her on her horse with swift, silent movements. Then as she gathered up the reins he lingered for aninstant and taking the hem of her gown in his fingers he stooped andtouched his lips lightly, reverently to the cloth. 

There was something so humble, so pathetic, so self-forgetful in thehomage that the tears sprang to the girl's eyes and she longed to puther arms about his neck and draw his face close to hers and tell him howher heart was throbbing in sympathy. 

But he had not even asked for her love, and there must be silencebetween them. He had shown that it was the only way. Her own reserveclosed her lips and commanded that she show no sign. 

And now they rode on silently for the most part, the horses' hoofsbeating rapidly in unison. Now and then a rabbit scuttled on ahead ofthem or a horned toad hopped out of their path. Short brown lizardspalpitated on bits of wood along the way; now and then a bright greenone showed itself and disappeared. Once they came upon a village ofprairie dogs and paused to watch their antics for a moment. It was thenas they turned away that she noticed the bit of green he had stuck inhis buttonhole and recognized it for the same that she had played withas they talked by the wayside. Her eyes charged him with having pickedit up afterwards and his eyes replied with the truth, but they said nowords about it. They did not need words. 

It was not until they reached the top of a sloping hill, and suddenlycame upon the view of the valley with its winding track gleaming in thelate afternoon sun, the little wooden station and few cabins dotted hereand there, that she suddenly realized that their journey together was atan end, for this was the place from which she had started two daysbefore. 

He had no need to tell her. She saw the smug red gleam of their ownprivate car standing on the track not far away. She was brought face toface with the fact that her friends were down there in the valley andall the stiff conventionalities of her life stood ready to build a wallbetween this man and herself. They would sweep him out of her life as ifshe had never met him, never been found and saved by him, and carry heraway to their tiresome round of parties and pleasure excursions again. 

She lifted her eyes with a frightened, almost pleading glance as if fora moment she would ask him to turn with her back to the desert again. She found his eyes upon her in a long deep gaze of farewell, as onelooks upon the face of a beloved soon to be parted from earth. She couldnot bear the blinding of the love she saw there, and her own heartleaped up anew to meet it in answering love. 

But it was only this one flash of a glance they had, when they wereaware of voices and the sound of horses' hoofs, and almost instantlyaround the clump of sage-brush below the trail there swept into sightthree horsemen, Shag Bunce, an Indian, and Hazel's brother. They weretalking excitedly, and evidently starting out on a new search. 

The missionary with quick presence of mind started the horses on, shouting out a greeting, and was answered with instant cheers from theapproaching party, followed by shots from Shag Bunce in signal that thelost was found; shots which immediately seemed to echo from the valleyand swell into shouting and rejoicing. 

Then all was confusion at once. 

The handsome, reckless brother with gold hair like Hazel's embraced her, talking loud and eagerly; showing how he had done this and that to findher; blaming the country, the horses, the guides, the roads; and payinglittle heed to the missionary who instantly dropped behind to give himhis place. It seemed but a second more before they were surrounded witheager people all talking at once, and Hazel, distressed that her brothergave so little attention to the man who had saved her, sought thrice tomake some sort of an introduction, but the brother was too much taken upwith excitement, and with scolding his sister for having gotten herselflost, to take it in. 

Then out came the father, who, it appeared, had been up two nights onthe search, and had been taking a brief nap. His face was pale andhaggard. Brownleigh liked the look of his eyes as he caught sight ofhis daughter, and his face lighted as he saw her spring into his arms, crying: "Daddy! Daddy! I'm so sorry I frightened you!"

Behind him, tall and disapproving, with an I-told-you-so in her eye, stood Aunt Maria. 

"Headstrong girl, " she murmured severely. "You have given us all twoterrible days!" and she pecked Hazel's cheek stiffly. But no one heardher in the excitement. 

Behind Aunt Maria Hazel's maid wrung her hands and wept in a kind ofhysterical joy over her mistress' return, and back of her in the gloomof the car vestibule loomed the dark countenance of Hamar with an angry, red mark across one cheek. He did not look particularly anxious to bethere. The missionary turned from his evil face with repulsion. 

In the confusion and delight over the return of the lost one the man ofthe desert prepared to slip away, but just as he was about to mount hispony Hazel turned and saw him. 

"Daddy, come over here and speak to the man who found me and brought mesafely back again, " she said, dragging her father eagerly across theplatform to where the missionary stood. 

The father came readily enough and Hazel talked rapidly, her eyesshining, her cheeks like twin roses, telling in a breath of the horrorsand darkness and rescue, and the thoughtfulness of her stranger-rescuer. 

Mr. Radcliffe came forward with outstretched hand to greet him, and themissionary took off his hat and stood with easy grace to shake hands. Hewas not conscious then of the fire of eyes upon him, cold society staresfrom Aunt Maria, Hamar and young Radcliffe, as if to say, How dared hepresume to expect recognition for doing what was a simple duty! He notedonly the genuine heartiness in the face of the father as he thanked himfor what he had done. Then, like the practical man of the world that hewas, Mr. Radcliffe reached his hand into his pocket and drew out hischeck book remarking, as if it were a matter of course, that he wishedto reward his daughter's rescuer handsomely, and inquiring his name ashe pulled off the cap from his fountain pen. 

Brownleigh stood back stiffly with a heightened colour, and an almosthaughty look upon his face. 

"Thank you, " he said coldly, "I could not think of taking anything for amere act of humanity. It was a pleasure to be able to serve yourdaughter, " and he swung himself easily into the saddle. 

But Mr. Radcliffe was unaccustomed to such independence in those whoserved him and he began to bluster. Hazel, however, her cheeks fairlyblazing, her eyes filled with mortification, put a hand upon herfather's arm. 

"Daddy, you don't understand, " she said earnestly; "my new friend is aclergyman--he is a missionary, daddy!"

"Nonsense, daughter! You don't understand these matters. Just wait untilI am through. I cannot let a deed like this go unrewarded. A missionary, did you say? Then if you won't take anything for yourself take it foryour church; it's all the same in the end, " and he gave a knowing winktowards the missionary whose anger was rising rapidly, and who washaving much ado to keep a meek and quiet spirit. 

"Thank you!" he said again coldly, "not for any such service. "

"But I mean it!" grumbled the elder man much annoyed. "I want to donatesomething to a cause that employs a man like you. It is a good to thecountry at large to have such men patrolling the deserts. I neverthought there was much excuse for Home Missions, but after this I shallgive it my hearty approval. It makes the country safer for tourists. Come, tell me your name and I'll write out a check. I'm in earnest. "

"Send any contribution you wish to make to the general fund, " saidBrownleigh with dignity, mentioning the address of the New York Boardunder whose auspices he was sent out, "but don't mention me, please. "Then he lifted his hat once more and would have ridden away but for thedistress in Hazel's eyes. 

Just then the brother created a digression by rushing up to his father. "Dad, Aunt Maria wants to know if we can't go on, with this train. It'sin sight now, and she is nearly crazy to get on the move. There'snothing to hinder our being hitched on, is there? The agent has theorder. Do, dad, let's get out of this. I'm sick of it, and Aunt Maria isunbearable!"

"Yes, certainly, certainly, Arthur, speak to the agent. We'll go on atonce. Excuse me, Mr. ---- Ah, what did you say was the name? I'm sorryyou feel that way about it; though it's very commendable, verycommendable, I'm sure. I'll send to New York at once. Fifth Avenue, didyou say? I'll speak a good word for you. Excuse me, the agent isbeckoning me. Well, good-bye, and thank you again! Daughter, you betterget right into the car. The train is almost here, and they may have notime to spare, " and Mr. Radcliffe hastened up the platform after his sonand the agent. 

IX

"FOR REMEMBRANCE"

Hazel turned her troubled eyes to the face of the man pleadingly. "Myfather does not understand, " she said apologetically. "He is verygrateful and he is used to thinking that money can always showgratitude. "

Brownleigh was off his horse beside her, his hat off, before she hadfinished speaking. 

"Don't, I beg of you, think of it again, " he pleaded, his eyes devouringher face. "It is all right. I quite understand. And you understand too, I am sure. "

"Yes, I understand, " she said, lifting her eyes full of the love she hadnot dared to let him see. She was fidgetting with her rings as she spokeand looked back anxiously at the onrushing train. Her brother, hurryingdown the platform to their car, called to her to hasten as he passedher, and she knew she would be allowed but a moment more. She caught herbreath and looked at the tall missionary wistfully. 

"You will let me leave something of my own with you, just forremembrance?" she asked eagerly. 

His eyes grew tender and misty. 

"Of course, " he said, his voice suddenly husky, "though I shall neednothing to remember you by. I can never forget you. " The memory of thatlook of his eyes was meat and drink to her soul during many days thatfollowed, but she met it now steadily, not even flushing at her openrecognition of his love. 

"This is mine, " she said. "My father bought it for me when I wassixteen. I have worn it ever since. He will never care. " She slipped aring from her finger and dropped it in his palm. 

"Hurry up there, sister!" called young Radcliffe once more from the carwindow, and looking up, Brownleigh saw the evil face of Hamar peeringfrom another window. 

Hazel turned, struggling to keep back the rising tears. "I must go, " shegasped. 

Brownleigh flung the reins of the pony to a young Indian who stood nearand turning walked beside her, conscious the while of the frowning faceswatching them from the car windows. 

"And I have nothing to give you, " he said to her in a low tone, deeplymoved at what she had done. 

"Will you let me have the little book?" she asked shyly. 

His eyes lit with a kind of glory as he felt in his pocket for hisBible. 

"It is the best thing I own, " he said. "May it bring you the same joyand comfort it has often brought to me. " And he put the little book inher hand. 

The train backed crashing up and jarred into the private car with asnarling, grating sound. Brownleigh put Hazel on the steps and helpedher up. Her father was hurrying towards them and some train hands weremaking a great fuss shouting directions. There was just an instant for ahand-clasp, and then he stepped back to the platform, and her fatherswung himself on, as the train moved off. She stood on the top step ofthe car, her eyes upon his face, and his upon hers, his hat lifted inhomage, and renunciation upon his brow as though it were a crown. 

It was the voice of her Aunt Maria that recalled her to herself, whilethe little station with its primitive setting, its straggling onlookersand its one great man, slipped past and was blurred into the landscapeby the tears which she could not keep back. 

"Hazel! For pity's sake! Don't stand mooning and gazing at that rudecreature any longer. We'll have you falling off the train and beingdramatically rescued again for the delectation of the natives. I'm sureyou've made disturbance enough for one trip, and you'd better come inand try to make amends to poor Mr. Hamar for what you have made himsuffer with your foolish persistence in going off on a wild western ponythat ran away. You haven't spoken to Mr. Hamar yet. Perhaps you don'tknow that he risked his life for you trying to catch your horse and wasthrown and kicked in the face by his own wretched little beast, and leftlying unconscious for hours on the desert, until an Indian came alongand picked him up and helped him back to the station. " (As a matter offact Milton Hamar had planned and enacted this touching drama with thehelp of a passing Indian, when he found that Hazel was gone, leaving anugly whip mark on his cheek which must be explained to the family. ) "Hemay bear that dreadful scar for life! He will think you an ungratefulgirl if you don't go at once and make your apologies. "

For answer Hazel, surreptitiously brushing away the tears, swept pasther aunt and locked herself into her own little private stateroom. 

She rushed eagerly to the window which was partly open, guarded with ascreen, and pressed her face against the upper part of the glass. Thetrain had described a curve across the prairie, and the station wasstill visible, though far away. She was sure she could see the tallfigure of her lover standing with hat in hand watching her as she passedfrom his sight. 

With quick impulse she caught up a long white crepe scarf that lay onher berth, and snatching the screen from the window fluttered the scarfout to the wind. Almost instantly a flutter of white came from thefigure on the platform, and her heart quickened with joy. They had senta message from heart to heart across the wide space of the plains, andthe wireless telegraphy of hearts was established. Great tears rushed toblot the last flutter of white from the receding landscape, and then ahill loomed brilliant and shifting, and in a moment more shut out thesight of station and dim group and Hazel knew that she was back in theworld of commonplace things once more, with only a memory for hercompany, amid a background of unsympathetic relatives. 

She made her toilet in a leisurely way, for she dreaded to have to talkas she knew she would, and dreaded still more to meet Hamar. But sheknew she must go and tell her father of her experiences, and presentlyshe came out to them fresh and beautiful, with eyes but the brighter forher tears, and a soft wild-rose flush on her wind-browned cheeks thatmade her beauty all the sweeter. 

They clamoured at once, of course, for all the details of herexperience, and began by rehearsing once more how hard Mr. Hamar hadtried to save her from her terrible plight, risking his life to stop herhorse. Hazel said nothing to this, but one steady clear look at thedisfigured face of the man who had made them believe all this was theonly recognition she gave of his would-be heroism. In that look shemanaged to show her utter disbelief and contempt, though her Aunt Mariaand perhaps even her father and brother thought her gratitude too deepfor utterance before them all. 

The girl passed over the matter of the runaway with a brief word, sayingthat the pony had made up his mind to run, and she had lost the bridle, which of course explained her inability to control him. She made lightof her ride, however, before her aunt, and told the whole story mostbriefly until she came to the canyon and the howl of the coyotes. Shewas most warm in praise of her rescuer, though here too she used fewwords and avoided any description of the ride back, merely saying thatthe missionary had shown himself a gentleman in every particular, andhad given her every care and attention that her own family could havedone under the circumstances, making the way pleasant with stories ofthe country and the people. She said that he was a man of unusualculture and refinement, she thought, and yet most earnestly devoted tohis work, and then she abruptly changed the subject by asking aboutcertain plans for their further trip and seeming to have no furtherinterest in what had befallen her; but all the while she was consciousof the piercing glance and frowning visage of Milton Hamar watching her, and she knew that as soon as opportunity offered itself he wouldcontinue the hateful interview begun on the plain. She decided mentallythat she would avoid any such interview if possible, and to that endexcused herself immediately after lunch had been served, saying sheneeded a good sleep to make up for the long ride she had taken. 

But it was not to sleep that she gave herself when she was at last ableto take refuge in her little apartment again. She looked out at thepassing landscape, beautiful with varied scenery, all blurred with tearsas she thought of how she had but a little while before been out in itswide free distance with one who loved her. How that thought thrilled andthrilled her, and brought her a fresh joy each time it repeated itself!She wondered over the miracle of it. She never had dreamed that love waslike this. She scarce believed it now. She was excited, stirred to thedepths by her unusual experience, put beyond the normal by thestrangeness of the surroundings that had brought this man into heracquaintance; so said common sense, and warned her that to-morrow, orthe next day, or at most next week, the thrill would all be gone and shewould think of the stranger missionary as one curious detail of herWestern trip. But her heart resented this, and down, deep down, something else told her this strange new joy would not vanish, that itwould live throughout her life, and that whatever in the years came toher, she would always know underneath all that this had been the realthing, the highest fullness of a perfect love for her. 

As the miles lengthened and her thoughts grew sad with the distance, she drew from its hiding place the little book he had given her atparting. She had slipped it into the breast pocket of her riding habitas she received it, for she shrank from having her aunt's keen eyesdetect it and question her. She had been too much engrossed with thethought of separation to remember it till now. 

She touched it tenderly, shyly, as though it were a part of himself; thelimp, worn covers, the look of constant use, all made it inexpressiblydear. She had not known before that an inanimate object, not beautifulin itself, could bring such tender love. 

Opening to the flyleaf, there in clear, bold writing was his name, "JohnChadwick Brownleigh, " and for the first time she realized that there hadpassed between them no word of her name. Strange that they two shouldhave come so close as to need no names one with the other. But her heartleaped up with joy that she knew his name, and her eyes dwelt yearninglyupon the written characters. John! How well the name fitted him. Itseemed that she would have known it was his even if she had not seen itwritten first in one of his possessions. Then she fell to meditatingwhether he would have any way of discovering her name. Perhaps herfather had given it to him, or the station agent might have known towhom their car belonged. Of course he would when he received theorders, --or did they give orders about cars only by numbers? She wishedshe dared ask some one. Perhaps she could find out in some way how thoseorders were written. And yet all the time she had an instinctive feelingthat had he known her name a thousand times he would not havecommunicated with her. She knew by that exalted look of renunciationupon his face that no longing whatsoever could make him overstep thebounds which he had laid down between her soul and his. 

With a sigh she opened the little book, and it fell apart of itself tothe place where he had read the night before, the page still marked bythe little silk cord he had placed so carefully. She could see him nowwith the firelight flickering on his face, and the moonlight silveringhis head, that strong tender look upon his face. How wonderful he hadbeen!

She read the psalm over now herself, the first time in her life she hadever consciously given herself to reading the Bible. But there was acharm about the words that gave them new meaning, the charm of his voiceas she heard them in memory and watched again his face change and stirat the words as he read. 

The day waned and the train flew on, but the landscape had lost itsattraction now for the girl. She pleaded weariness and remained apartfrom the rest, dreaming over her wonderful experience, and thinking newdeep thoughts of wonder, regret, sadness, joy, and when night fell andthe great moon rose lighting the world again, she knelt beside her carwindow, looking long into the wide clear sky, the sky that covered himand herself; the moon that looked down upon them both. Then switching onthe electric light over her berth she read the psalm once more, and fellasleep with her cheek upon the little book and in her heart a prayer forhim. 

John Brownleigh, standing upon the station platform, watching the traindisappear behind the foot-hills, experienced, for the first time sincehis coming to Arizona, a feeling of the utmost desolation. Lonely he hadbeen, and homesick, sometimes, but always with a sense that he wasmaster of it all, and that with the delight of his work it would passand leave him free and glad in the power wherewith his God had calledhim to the service. But now he felt that with this train the light oflife was going from him, and all the glory of Arizona and the world inwhich he had loved to be was darkened on her account. For a moment ortwo his soul cried out that it could not be, that he must mount somewinged steed and speed after her whom his heart had enthroned. Then thewall of the inevitable appeared before his eager eyes, and Reasoncrowded close to bring him to his senses. He turned away to hide theemotion in his face. The stolid Indian boy, who had been holding bothhorses, received his customary smile and pleasant word, but themissionary gave them more by habit than thought this time. His soul hadentered its Gethsemane, and his spirit was bowed within him. 

As soon as he could get away from the people about the station who hadtheir little griefs and joys and perplexities to tell him, he mountedBilly, and leading the borrowed pony rode away into the desert, retracing the way they had come together but a short time before. 

Billy was tired and walked slowly, drooping his head, and his master wassad at heart, so there was no cheerful converse between them as theytravelled along. 

It was not far they went, only back to the edge of the corn, where theyhad made their last stop of the journey together a few short hoursbefore, and here the missionary halted and gave the beasts their freedomfor a respite and refreshment. He himself felt too weary of soul to gofurther. 

He took out the ring, the little ring that was too small to go more thanhalf-way on his smallest finger, the ring she had taken warm andflashing from her white hand and laid within his palm!

The sun low down in the west stole into the heart of the jewel and sentits glory in a million multicoloured facets, piercing his soul with thepain and the joy of his love. He cast himself down upon the grass whereshe had sat, where, with his eyes closed and his lips upon the jewel shehad worn, he met his enemy and fought his battle out. 

Wearied at last with the contest, he slept. The sun went down, the moonmade itself manifest once more, and when the night went coursing downits way of silver, two jewels softly gleamed in its radiance, the oneupon his finger where he had pressed her ring, the other from the grassbeside him. With a curious wonder he put forth his hand to the secondand found it was the topaz set in the handle of her whip which she haddropped and forgotten when they sat together and talked by the way. Heseized it eagerly now, and gathered it to him. It seemed almost amessage of comfort from her he loved. It was something tangible, this, and the ring, to show him he had not dreamed her coming; she had beenreal, and she had wanted him to tell her of his love, had said it wouldmake a difference all the rest of her life. 

He remembered that somewhere he had read or heard a great man say thatto be worthy of a great love one must be able to do without it. Herenow, then, he would prove his love by doing without. He stood withuplifted face, transfigured in the light of the brilliant night, withthe look of exalted self-surrender, but only his heart communed thatnight, for there were no words on his dumb lips to express the fullnessof his abnegation. 

Then forth upon his way he went, his battle fought, the stronger for it, to be a staff for other men to lean upon. 

X

HIS MOTHER

Deserts and mountains remain, duties crowd and press, hearts ache butthe world rushes on. The weeks that followed showed these two that agreat love is eternal. 

Brownleigh did not try to put the thought of it out of his life, butrather let it glorify the common round. Day after day passed and he wentfrom post to post, from hogan to mesa, and back to his shanty again, always with the thought of her companionship, and found it sweet. Neverhad he been less cheery when he met his friends, though there was aquiet dignity, a tender reserve behind it all that a few discerning onesperceived. They said at the Fort that he was losing flesh, but if so, hewas gaining muscle. His lean brown arms were never stronger, and hisfine strong face was never sad when any one was by. It was only in thenight-time alone upon the moonlit desert, or in his little quietdwelling place when he talked with his Father, and told all theloneliness and heartache. His people found him more sympathetic, morepainstaking, more tireless than ever before, and the work prosperedunder his hand. 

The girl in the city deliberately set herself to forget. 

The first few days after she left him had been a season of ecstatic joymingled with deep depression, as she alternately meditated upon the factof a great love, or faced its impossibility. 

She had scorched Milton Hamar with her glance of aversion, and avoidedhim constantly even in the face of protest from her family, until he hadmade excuse and left the party at Pasadena. There, too, Aunt Maria hadrelieved them of her annoying interference, and the return trip taken bythe southern route had been an unmolested time for meditation for thegirl. She became daily more and more dissatisfied with herself and heruseless, ornamental life. Some days she read the little book, and otherdays she shut it away and tried to get back to her former life, tellingherself it was useless to attempt to change herself. She had found thatthe little book gave her a deep unrest and a sense that life heldgraver, sweeter things than just living to please one's self. She beganto long for home, and the summer round of gaieties, with which to fillthe emptiness of her heart. 

As the summer advanced there was almost a recklessness sometimes aboutthe way she planned to have a good time every minute; yet in the quietof her own room there would always come back the yearning that had beenawakened in the desert and would not be silenced. 

Sometimes when the memory of that great deep love she had heardexpressed for herself came over her, the bitter tears would come to hereyes and one thought would throb through her consciousness: "Not worthy!Not worthy!" He had not thought her fit to be his wife. Her father andher world would think it quite otherwise. They would count him unworthyto mate with her, an heiress, the pet of society; he a man who had givenup his life for a whim, a fad, a fanatical fancy! But she knew it wasnot so. She knew him to be a man of all men. She knew it was true thatshe was not such a woman as a man like that could fitly wed, and thethought galled her constantly. 

She tried to accustom herself to think of him as a pleasant experience, a friend who might have been if circumstances with them both had beendifferent; she tried to tell herself that it was a passing fancy withthem which both would forget; and she tried with all her heart toforget, even locking away the precious little book and trying to forgetit too. 

And then, one day in late summer, she went with a motoring party throughNew England; as frolicsome and giddy a party as could be found among NewYork society transferred for the summer to the world of Nature. Therewas to be a dance or a house party or something of the sort at the endof the drive. Hazel scarcely knew, and cared less. She was becomingutterly weary of her butterfly life. 

The day was hot and dusty, Indian summer intensified. They had got outof their way through a mistake of the chauffeur, and suddenly just onthe edge of a tiny quaint little village the car broke down and refusedto go on without a lengthy siege of coaxing and petting. 

The members of the party, powdered with dust and in no very pleasantframe of mind from the delay, took refuge at the village inn, anold-time hostelry close to the roadside, with wide, brick-paved, white-pillared piazza across the front, and a mysterious hedged gardenat the side. There were many plain wooden rockers neatly adorned withwhite crash on the piazza, and one or two late summer boarders loiteringabout with knitting work or book. The landlord brought cool tinklingglasses of water and rich milk from the spring-house, and they droppedinto the chairs to wait while the men of the party gave assistance tothe chauffeur in patching up the car. 

Hazel sank wearily into her chair and sipped the milk unhungrily. Shewished she had not come; wished the day were over, and that she mighthave planned something more interesting; wished she had chosen differentpeople to be of her party; and idly watched a white hen with yellow kidboots and a coral comb in her nicely groomed hair picking daintily aboutthe green under the oak trees that shaded the street. She listened tothe drone of the bees in the garden near by, the distant whetting of ascythe, the monotonous whang of a steam thresher not far away, the happyvoices of children, and thought how empty a life in this village wouldbe; almost as dreary and uninteresting as living in a desert--and thensuddenly she caught a name and the pink flew into her cheeks and memoryset her heart athrob. 

It was the landlord talking to a lingering summer boarder, a quiet, gray-haired woman who sat reading at the end of the piazza. 

"Well, Miss Norton, so you're goin' to leave us next week. Sorry to hearit. Don't seem nat'ral 'thout you clear through October. Ca'c'lateyou're comin' back to Granville in the spring?"

Granville! Granville! Where had she heard of Granville? Ah! She knewinstantly. It was his old home! His mother lived there! But then ofcourse it might have been another Granville. She wasn't even sure whatstate they were in now, New Hampshire or Vermont. They had been waveringabout on the state line several times that day, and she never paidattention to geography. 

Then the landlord raised his voice again. 

He was gazing across the road where a white colonial house, white-fencedwith pickets like clean sugar frosting, nestled in the luscious grass, green and clean and fresh, and seeming utterly apart from the soil anddust of the road, as if nothing wearisome could ever enter there. Brightly there bloomed a border of late flowers, double asters, zinnias, peonies, with a flame of scarlet poppies breaking into the smoke-likeblue of larkspurs and bachelor buttons, as it neared the house. Hazelhad not noticed it until now and she almost cried out with pleasure overthe splendour of colour. 

"Wal, " said the landlord chinking some loose coins in his capaciouspockets, "I reckon Mis' Brownleigh'll miss yeh 'bout as much as enny ofus. She lots on your comin' over to read to her. I've heerd her say ashow Amelia Ellen is a good nurse, but she never was much on the readin', an' Amelia Ellen knows it too. Mis' Brownleigh she'll be powerfullonesome fer yeh when yeh go. It's not so lively fur her tied to her beder her chair, even ef John does write to her reg'lur twicet a week. "

And now Hazel noticed that on the covered veranda in front of the wingof the house across the way there sat an old lady on a reclining wheeledchair, and that another woman in a plain blue gown hovered near waitingupon her. A luxuriant woodbine partly hid the chair, and the distancewas too great to see the face of the woman, but Hazel grew weak withwonder and pleasure. She sat quite still trying to gather her forceswhile the summer boarder expressed earnest regret at having to leave herchosen summer abiding place so much earlier than usual. At last herfriends began to rally Hazel on her silence. She turned away annoyed, and answered them crossly, following the landlord into the house andquestioning him eagerly. She had suddenly arrived at the conclusion thatshe must see Mrs. Brownleigh and know if she looked like her son, and ifshe was the kind of mother one would expect such a son to have. She feltthat in the sight might lie her emancipation from the bewitchment thathad bound her in its toils since her Western trip. She also secretlyhoped it might justify her dearest dreams of what his mother was like. 

"Do you suppose that lady across the street would mind if I went over tolook at her beautiful flowers?" she burst in upon the astonishedlandlord as he tipped his chair back with his feet on another andprepared to browse over yesterday's paper for the third time that day. 

He brought his chair down on its four legs with a thump and drew his hatfurther over his forehead. 

"Not a bit, not a bit, young lady. She's proud to show off her flowers. They're one of the sights of Granville. Mis' Brownleigh loves to havecomp'ny. Jest go right over an' tell her I sent you. She'll tell youall about 'em, an' like ez not she'll give you a bokay to take 'long. She's real generous with 'em. "

He tottered out to the door after her on his stiff rheumatic legs, andsuggested that the other young ladies might like to go along, but theyone and all declined, to Hazel's intense relief, and called theirridicule after her as she picked her way across the dusty road andopened the white gate into the peaceful scene beyond. 

When she drew close to the side piazza she saw one of the most beautifulfaces she had ever looked upon. The features were delicate andexquisitely modelled, aged by years and much suffering, yet lovely witha peace that had permitted no fretting. An abundance of waving silkenhair white as driven snow was piled high upon her head against the snowypillow, and soft brown eyes made the girl's heart throb quickly withtheir likeness to those other eyes that had once looked into hers. 

She was dressed in a simple little muslin gown of white and gray withwhite cloud-like finish at throat and wrists, and across the helplesslimbs was flung a light afghan of pink and gray wool. She made a sweetpicture as she lay and watched her approaching guest with a smile ofinterest and welcome. 

"The landlord said you would not mind if I came over to see yourflowers, " Hazel said with a shy, half-frightened catch in her voice. Nowthat she was here she was almost sorry she had come. It might not be hismother at all, and what could she say anyway? Yet her first glimpse toldher that this was a mother to be proud of. "The most beautiful mother inthe world" he had called her, and surely this woman could be none otherthan the one who had mothered such a son. Her highest ideals ofmotherhood seemed realized as she gazed upon the peaceful face of theinvalid. 

And then the voice! For the woman was speaking now, holding out alily-white hand to her and bidding her be seated in the Chinese willowchair that stood close by the wheeled one; a great green silk cushion atthe back, and a large palm leaf fan on the table beside it. 

"I am so pleased that you came over, " Mrs. Brownleigh was saying. "Ihave been wondering if some one wouldn't come to me. I keep my flowerspartly to attract my friends, for I can stand a great deal of companysince I'm all alone. You came in the big motor car that broke down, didn't you? I've been watching the pretty girls over there, in their gayribbons and veils. They look like human flowers. Rest here and tell mewhere you have come from and where you are going, while Amelia Ellenpicks you some flowers to take along. Afterwards you shall go among themand see if there are any you like that she has missed. Amelia Ellen! Getyour basket and scissors and pick a great many flowers for this younglady. It is getting late and they have not much longer to blossom. Thereare three white buds on the rose-bush. Pick them all. I think they fityour face, my dear. Now take off your hat and let me see your prettyhair without its covering. I want to get your picture fixed in my heartso I can look at you after you are gone. "

And so quite simply they fell into easy talk about each other, the day, the village, and the flowers. 

"You see the little white church down the street? My husband was itspastor for twenty years. I came to this house a bride, and our boy wasborn here. Afterwards, when his father was taken away, I stayed righthere with the people who loved him. The boy was in college then, gettingready to take up his father's work. I've stayed here ever since. I lovethe people and they love me, and I couldn't very well be moved, youknow. My boy is out in Arizona, a home missionary!" She said it asAbraham Lincoln's mother might have said: "My boy is president of theUnited States!" Her face wore a kind of glory that bore a startlingresemblance to the man of the desert. Hazel marvelled greatly, andunderstood what had made the son so great. 

"I don't see how he could go and leave you alone!" she broke forthalmost bitterly. "I should think his duty was here with his mother!"

"Yes, I know, " the mother smiled; "they do say that, some of them, butit's because they don't understand. You see we gave John to God when hewas born, and it was our hope from the first that he would choose to bea minister and a missionary. Of course John thought at first after hisfather went away that he could not leave me, but I made him see that Iwould be happier so. He wanted me to go with him, but I knew I shouldonly be a hindrance to the work, and it came to me that my part in thework was to stay at home and let him go. It was all I had left to doafter I became an invalid. And I'm very comfortable. Amelia Ellen takescare of me like a baby, and there are plenty of friends. My boy writesme beautiful letters twice a week, and we have such nice talks about thework. He's very like his father, and growing more so every day. Perhaps, " she faltered and fumbled under the pink and silver lap robe, "perhaps you'd like to read a bit of one of his letters. I have it here. It came yesterday and I've only read it twice. I don't let myself readthem too often because they have to last three days apiece at least. Perhaps you'd read it aloud to me. I like to hear John's words aloudsometimes and Amelia Ellen has never spent much time reading. She ispeculiar in her pronunciation. Do you mind reading it to me?"

She held a letter forth, written in a strong free hand, the same thathad signed the name John Chadwick Brownleigh in the little book. Hazel'sheart throbbed eagerly and her hand trembled as she reached it shylytowards the letter. What a miracle was this! that his very letter wasbeing put into her hand, her whom he loved--to read! Was it possible?Could there be a mistake? No, surely not. There could not be two JohnBrownleighs, both missionaries to Arizona. 

"Dear little Mother o' Mine:" it began, and plunged at once into thebreezy life of the Western country. He had been to a cattle round-up theweek before and he described it minutely in terse and vivid language, with many a flash of wit, or graver touch of wisdom, and here and therea boyish expression that showed him young at heart, and devoted to hismother. He told of a visit he had paid to the Hopi Indians, theirstrange villages, each like a gigantic house with many rooms, called apueblo, built on the edges of lofty crags or mesas and looking like hugecastles five or six hundred feet above the desert floor. He told ofWalpi, a village out on the end of a great promontory, its only access anarrow neck of land less than a rod wide, with one little path worn morethan a foot deep in the solid rock by the feet of ten generationspassing over it, where now live about two hundred and thirty people inone building. There were seven of these villages built on three mesasthat reach out from the northern desert like three great fingers, Oraibi, the largest, having over a thousand people. He explained thatSpanish explorers found these Hopis in 1540, long before the pilgrimslanded at Plymouth Rock, and called the country Tusayan. Then he wenton to describe a remarkable meeting that had been held in which theIndians had manifested deep interest in spiritual things, and had askedmany curious questions about life, death and the hereafter. 

"You see, dear, " said the mother, her eyes shining eagerly, "you see howmuch they need him, and I'm glad I can give him. It makes me have a partin the work. "

Hazel turned back to the letter and went on reading to hide the tearsthat were gathering in her own eyes as she looked upon the exalted faceof the mother. 

There was a detailed account of a conference of missionaries, to attendwhich the rider had ridden ninety miles on horseback; and at the closethere was an exquisite description of the spot where they had camped thelast night of their ride. She knew it from the first word almost, andher heart beat so wildly she could hardly keep her voice steady to read:

"I stopped over night on the way home at a place I dearly love. There isa great rock, shelving and overhanging, for shelter from any passingstorm, and quite near a charming green boudoir of cedars on three sides, and rock on the fourth. An abundant water-hole makes camping easy forme and Billy, and the stars overhead are good tapers. Here I build myfire and boil the kettle, read my portion and lie down to watch theheavens. Mother, I wish you knew how near to God one feels out in thedesert with the stars. Last night about three o'clock I woke toreplenish my fire and watch a while a great comet, the finest one formany years. I would tell you about it but I've already made this lettertoo long, and it's time Billy and I were on our way again. I love thisspot beside the big rock and often come back to it on my journeys;perhaps because here I once camped with a dear friend and we hadpleasant converse together around our brushwood fire. It makes thedesert seem less lonely because I can sometimes fancy my friend stillreclining over on the other side of the fire in the light that playsagainst the great rock. Well, little mother o' mine, I must close. Cheerup, for it has been intimated to me that I may be sent East to GeneralAssembly in the spring, and then for three whole weeks with you! Thatwill be when the wild strawberries are out, and I shall carry you in myarms and spread a couch for you on the strawberry hill behind the house, and you shall pick some again with your own hands. "

With a sudden catch in her throat like a sob the reading came to an endand Hazel, her eyes bright with tears, handed the letter reverently backto the mother whose face was bright with smiles. 

"Isn't he a boy worth giving?" she asked as she folded the letter andslipped it back under the pink and gray cover. 

"He is a great gift, " said Hazel in a low voice. 

She was almost glad that Amelia Ellen came up with an armful of flowersjust then and she might bury her face in their freshness and hide thetears that would not be stayed, and then before she had half admiredtheir beauty there was a loud "Honk-honk!" from the road, followed by amore impatient one, and Hazel was made aware that she was being waitedfor. 

"I'm sorry you must go, dear, " said the gentle woman. "I haven't seen sobeautiful a girl in years, and I'm sure you have a lovely heart, too. Iwish you could visit me again. "

"I will come again some time if you will let me!" said the girlimpulsively, and then stooped and kissed the soft rose-leaf cheek, andfled down the path trying to get control of her emotion before meetingher companions. 

Hazel was quiet all the rest of the way, and was rallied much upon hersolemnity. She pleaded a headache and closed her eyes, while eachheart-throb carried her back over the months and brought her again tothe little camp under the rock beneath the stars. 

"He remembered still! He cared!" This was what her glad thoughts sang asthe car whirled on, and her gay companions forgot her and chattered oftheir frivolities. 

"How wonderful that I should find his mother!" she said again and againto herself. Yet it was not so wonderful. He had told her the name of thetown, and she might have come here any time of her own accord. But itwas strange and beautiful that the accident had brought her straight tothe door of the house where he had been born and brought up! What abeautiful, happy boyhood he must have had with a mother like that! Hazelfound herself thinking wistfully, out of the emptiness of her ownmotherless girlhood. Yes, she would go back and see the sweet mothersome day; and she fell to planning how it could be. 

XI

REFUGE

Milton Hamar had not troubled Hazel all summer. From time to time herfather mentioned him as being connected with business enterprises, andit was openly spoken of now that a divorce had been granted him, and hisformer wife was soon to marry again. All this, however, was mostdistasteful to the girl to whom the slightest word about the man servedto bring up the hateful scene of the desert. 

But early in the fall he appeared among them again, assuming his oldfriendly attitude towards the whole family, dropping in to lunch ordinner whenever it suited his fancy. He seemed to choose to forget whathad passed between Hazel and himself, to act as though it had not been, and resumed his former playful attitude of extreme interest in the girlof whom he had always been fond. Hazel, however, found a certain air ofproprietorship in his gaze, a too-open expression of his admirationwhich was offensive. She could not forget, try as hard as she might forher father's sake to forgive. She shrank away from the man's company, avoided him whenever possible, and at last when he seemed to be almostomnipresent, and growing every day more insistent in his attentions, shecast about her for some absorbing interest which would take her out ofhis sphere. 

Then a strange fancy took her in its possession. 

It was in the middle of the night when it came to her, where she hadbeen turning her luxurious pillow for two hours trying in vain to tempta drowsiness that would not come, and she arose at once and wrote abrief and businesslike letter to the landlord of the little NewHampshire inn where she had been delayed for a couple of hours in thefall. In the morning, true to her impulsive nature, she besieged herfather until he gave his permission for her to take her maid and a quietelderly cousin of his and go away for a complete rest before the societyseason began. 

It was a strange whim for his butterfly daughter to take but the busyman saw no harm in it, and was fully convinced that it was merely herway of punishing some over ardent follower for a few days; and feelingsure she would soon return, he let her go. She had had her way all herlife, and why should he cross her in so simple a matter as a few days'rest in a country inn with a respectable chaperone?

The letter to the landlord was outtravelled by a telegram whose answersent Hazel on her way the next morning, thankful that she had been ableto get away during a temporary absence of Milton Hamar, and that herfather had promised not to let any of her friends know of herwhereabouts. His eye had twinkled as he made the promise. He was quitesure which of her many admirers was being punished, but he did not tellher so. He intended to be most judicious with all her young men friends. He so confided his intentions to Milton Hamar that evening, having nothought that Hazel would mind their old friend's knowing. 

Two days later Hazel, after establishing her little party comfortably inthe best rooms the New Hampshire inn afforded, putting a large box ofnew novels at their disposal, and another of sweets, and sending ordersfor new magazines to be forwarded, went over to call on the sweet oldlady towards whom her heart had been turning eagerly, with a longingthat would not be put away, ever since that first accidental, orprovidential, meeting. 

When she came back, through the first early snow-storm, with her cheekslike winter roses and her furry hat all feathered with great whiteflakes, she found Milton Hamar seated in front of the open fire in theoffice making the air heavy with his best tobacco, and frowningimpatiently through the small-paned windows. 

The bright look faded instantly from her face and the peace which shehad almost caught from the woman across the way. Her eyes flashedindignantly, and her whole small frame stiffened for the combat that sheknew must come now. There was no mistaking her look. Milton Hamar knewat once that he was not welcome. She stood for an instant with the doorwide open, blowing a great gust of biting air across the wide room andinto his face. A cloud of smoke sprang out from the fireplace to meet itand the two came together in front of the man, and made a visible wallfor a second between him and the girl. 

He sprang to his feet, cigar in hand, and an angry exclamation upon hislips. The office, fortunately, was without other occupant. 

"Why in the name of all that's unholy did you lead me a race away off tothis forsaken little hole in midwinter, Hazel?" he cried. 

Hazel drew herself to her full height and with the dignity that wellbecame her, answered him:

"Really, Mr. Hamar, what right have you to speak to me in that way? Andwhat right had you to follow me?"

"The right of the man who is going to marry you!" he answered fiercely;"and I think it's about time this nonsense stopped. It's nothing butcoquettish foolishness, your coming here. I hate coquettish fools. Ididn't think you had it in you to coquet, but it seems all women arealike. "

"Mr. Hamar, you are forgetting yourself, " said the girl quietly, turningto shut the door that she might gain time to get control of her shakennerves. She had a swift vision of what it would be if she were marriedto a man like that. No wonder his wife was entirely willing to give hima divorce. But she shuddered as she turned back and faced him bravely. 

"Well, what did you come here for?" he asked in a less fierce tone. 

"I came because I wanted to be quiet, " Hazel said trying to steady hervoice, "and--I will tell you the whole truth. I came because I wanted toget away from--you! I have not liked the way you acted towards mesince--that day--in Arizona. "

The man's fierce brows drew together, but a kind of mask of apologyoverspread his features. He perceived that he had gone too far with thegirl whom he had thought scarcely more than a child. He had thought hecould mould her like wax, and that his scorn would instantly wither herwiles. He watched her steadily for a full minute; the girl, thoughtrembling in every nerve, sending back a steady, haughty gaze. 

"Do you mean that?" he said at last. 

"I do!" Her voice was quiet, but she was on the verge of tears. 

"Well, perhaps we'd better talk it over. I see I've taken too much forgranted. I thought you'd understood for a year or more what was goingon--what I was doing it for. "

"You thought I understood! You thought I would be willing to be a partyto such an awful thing as you have done!" Hazel's eyes were flashingfire now. The tears were scorched away. 

"Sit down! We'll talk it over, " said the man moving a great summerchair nearer to his own. His eyes were on her face approvingly and hewas thinking what a beautiful picture she made in her anger. 

"Never!" said the girl quickly. "It is not a thing I could talk over. Ido not wish to speak of it again. I wish you to leave this place atonce, " and she turned with a quick movement and fled up the quaint oldstaircase. 

She stayed in her room until he left, utterly refusing to see him, refusing to answer the long letters he wrote and sent up to her; andfinally, after another day, he went away. But he wrote to her severaltimes, and came again twice, each time endeavouring to surprise her intotalking with him. The girl grew to watch nervously every approach of thedaily stage which brought stray travellers from the station four milesdistant, and was actually glad when a heavy snow-storm shut them in andmade it unlikely that her unwelcome visitor would venture again into thecountry. 

The last time he came Hazel saw him descending from the coach, andwithout a word to any one, although it was almost supper time, and theearly winter twilight was upon them, she seized her fur cloak andslipped down the back stairs, out through the shadows, across the road, where she surprised good Amelia Ellen by flinging her arms about herneck and bursting into tears right in the dark front hall, for the gustof wintry wind from the open door blew the candle out, and Amelia Ellenstood astonished and bewildered for a moment in the blast of the northwind with the soft arms of the excited girl in her furry wrappingsclinging about her unaccustomed shoulders. 

Amelia Ellen had never had many beautiful things in her life, the careof her Dresden-china mistress, and her brilliant garden of flowers, having been the crowning of her life hitherto. This beautiful city girlwith her exquisite garments and her face like a flower, flung upon herin sudden appeal, drew out all the latent love and pity and sympathy ofwhich Amelia Ellen had a larger store than most, hidden under a simpleand severe exterior. 

"Fer the land's sake! Whatever ails you!" she exclaimed when she couldspeak for astonishment, and to her own surprise her arm enclosed thesobbing girl in a warm embrace while with the other hand she reached toclose the door. "Come right in to my kitchen and set in the big chair bythe cat and let me give you a cup o' tea. Then you can tell Mis'Brownleigh what's troublin' you. She'll know how to talk to you. I'llgit you some tea right away. "

She drew the shrinking girl into the kitchen and ousting the cat from apatchwork rocker pushed her gently into it. It was characteristic ofAmelia Ellen that she had no thought of ministering to her spiritualneeds herself, but knew her place was to bring physical comfort. 

She spoke no word save to the cat, admonishing him to mend his mannersand keep out from under foot, while she hurried to the tea canister, thebread box, the sugar bowl, and the china closet. Soon a cup of fragranttea was set before the unexpected guest, and a bit of delicate toastbrowning over the coals, to be buttered and eaten crisp with the tea;and the cat nestled comfortably at Hazel's feet while she drank the teaand wiped away the tears. 

"You'll think I'm a big baby, Amelia Ellen!" cried Hazel trying to smileshamedly, "but I'm just so tired of the way things go. You see somebodyI don't a bit like has come up from New York on the evening coach, andI've run away for a little while. I don't know what made me cry. I nevercry at home, but when I got safely over here a big lump came in mythroat and you looked so nice and kind that I couldn't keep the tearsback. "

From that instant Amelia Ellen, toasting fork in hand, watching thesweet blue eyes and the tear-stained face that resembled a drenched pinkbud after a storm, loved Hazel Radcliffe. Come weal, come woe, AmeliaEllen was from henceforth her staunch admirer and defendant. 

"Never you mind, honey, you just eat your tea an' run in to Mis'Brownleigh, an' I'll get my hood an' run over to tell your folks you'vecome to stay all night over here. Then you'll have a cozy evenin'readin' while I sew, an' you can sleep late come mornin', and go backwhen you're ready. Nobody can't touch you over here. I'm not lettin' inpeople by night 'thout I know 'em, " and she winked knowingly at the girlby way of encouragement. Well she knew who the unwelcome stranger fromNew York was. She had keen eyes, and had watched the coach from herwell-curtained kitchen window as it came in. 

That night Hazel told her invalid friend all about Milton Hamar, andslept in the pleasant bed that Amelia Ellen had prepared for her, withsheets of fragrant linen redolent of sweet clover. Her heart was lighterfor the simple, kindly advice and the gentle love that had been showeredupon her. She wondered, as she lay half dozing in the morning with thefaint odour of coffee and muffins penetrating the atmosphere, why it wasthat she could love this beautiful mother of her hero so much moretenderly than she had ever loved any other woman. Was it because she hadnever known her own mother and had longed for one all her life, or wasit just because she was _his_ dear mother? She gave up trying to answerthe question and went smiling down to breakfast, and then across theroad to face her unwelcome lover, strong in the courage that friendlycounsel had given her. 

Milton Hamar left before dinner, having been convinced at last of theuselessness of his visit. He hired a man with a horse and cutter todrive him across country to catch the New York evening express, andHazel drew a breath of relief and began to find new pleasure in life. Her father was off on a business trip for some weeks; her brother hadgone abroad for the winter with a party of college friends. There was noreal reason why she should return to New York for some time, and shedecided to stay and learn of this saintly woman how to look wisely onthe things of life. To her own heart she openly acknowledged that therewas a deep pleasure in being near one who talked of the man she loved. 

So the winter settled down to business, and Hazel spent happy days withher new friends, for Amelia Ellen had become a true friend in the bestsense of the word. 

The maid had found the country winter too lonely and Hazel had found heruseless and sent her back to town. She was learning by association withAmelia Ellen to do a few things for herself. The elderly cousin, whoseyears had been a long strain of scrimping to present a respectableexterior, was only too happy to have leisure and quiet to read andembroider to her heart's content. So Hazel was free to spend much timewith Mrs. Brownleigh. 

They read together, at least Hazel did the reading, for the older eyeswere growing dim, and had to be guarded to prevent the terribleheadaches which came at the slightest provocation and made the days ablank of suffering for the lovely soul where patience was having itsperfect work. 

The world of literature opened through a new door to the eager youngmind now. Books of which she had never heard were at her hand. Newthoughts and feelings were stirred by them. A few friends who knew Mrs. Brownleigh through their summer visits, and others who had known herhusband, kept her well supplied with the latest and always the best ofeverything--history, biography, essays and fiction. But there were alsobooks of a deep spiritual character, and magazines that showed a newworld, the religious world, to the girl. She read with zest all of them, and enjoyed deeply the pleasant converse concerning each. Her eyes werebeing opened to new ways of living. She was beginning to know that therewas an existence more satisfying than just to go from one round ofamusement to another. And always, more than in any other thing she read, she took a most unusual interest in home missionary literature. It wasnot because it was so new and strange and like a fairy tale, nor becauseshe knew her friend enjoyed hearing all this news so much, but becauseit held for her the story of the man she now knew she loved, and who hadsaid he loved her. She wanted to put herself into touch withsurroundings like his, to understand better what he had to endure, andwhy he had not dared to ask her to share his life, his hardship--mostof all why he had not thought her worthy to suffer with him. 

When she grew tired of reading she would go out into the kitchen andhelp Amelia Ellen. It was her own whim that she should learn how to makesome of the good things to eat for which Amelia Ellen was famous. Sowhile her society friends at home went from one gay scene to another, dancing and frivolling through the night and sleeping away the morning, Hazel bared her round white arms, enveloped herself in a cleanblue-checked apron, and learned to make bread and pies and gingerbreadand puddings and doughnuts and fruit-cake, how to cook meats andvegetables and make delicious broths from odds and ends, and to concoctthe most delectable desserts that would tempt the frailest appetite. Real old country things they were--no fancy salads and whips and frothsthat society has hunted out to tempt its waning taste till everythinghas palled. She wrote to one of her old friends, who demanded to knowwhat she was doing so long up there in the country in the height of theseason, that she was taking a course in Domestic Science and happilyrecounted her menu of accomplishments. Secretly her heart rejoiced thatshe was become less and less unworthy of the love of the man in whosehome and at whose mother's side she was learning sweet lessons. 

There came letters, of course, from the far-away missionary. Hazelstayed later in the kitchen the morning of their arrival, conscious of akind of extra presence in his mother's room when his letters arrived. She knew the mother liked to be alone with her son's letters, and thatshe saved her eyes from other reading for them alone. Always the olderface wore a kind of glorified look when the girl entered after she hadbeen reading her letter. The letter itself would be hidden away out ofsight in the bosom of her soft gray gown, to be read again and againwhen she was alone, but seldom was it brought out in the presence of thevisitor, much as the mother was growing to love this girl. Frequentlythere were bits of news. 

"My son says he is very glad I am having such delightful company thiswinter, and he wants me to thank you from him for reading to me, " shesaid once, patting Hazel's hand as she tucked the wool robe about herfriend's helpless form. And again:

"My son is starting to build a church. He is very happy about it. Theyhave heretofore held worship in a schoolhouse. He has collected a gooddeal of the money himself, and he will help to put up the building withhis own hands. He is going to send me a photograph when it is up. Iwould like to be present when it is dedicated. It makes me very proud tohave my son doing that. "

The next letter brought a photograph, a small snapshot of the canyon, tiny, but clear and distinct. Hazel's hand trembled when the mother gaveit to her to look at, for she knew the very spot. She fancied it wasquite near the place where they had paused for water. She could feelagain the cool breath of the canyon, the damp smell of the earth andferns, and hear the call of the wild bird. 

Then one day there came a missionary magazine with a short article onthe work of Arizona and a picture of the missionary mounted on Billy, just ready to start from his little shack on a missionary tour. 

Hazel, turning the leaves, came upon the picture and held her breathwith astonishment and delight; then rapidly glanced over the article, her heart beating wildly as though she had heard his voice suddenlycalling to her out of the distances that separated them. She had abeautiful time surprising the proud mother with the picture and readingthe article. From that morning they seemed to have a tenderer tiebetween them, and once, just before Hazel was leaving for the night, themother reached out a detaining hand and laid it on the girl's arm. "Iwish my boy and you were acquainted, dear, " she said wistfully. AndHazel, the rich colour flooding her face at once, replied hesitatingly:

"Oh, why--I--feel--almost--as--though--we _were_!" Then she kissed herfriend on the soft cheek and hurried back to the inn. 

It was that night that the telegram came to say that her father had beenseriously injured in a railway accident and would be brought home atonce. She had no time to think of anything then but to hurry herbelongings together and hasten to New York. 

XII

QUALIFYING FOR SERVICE

During the six weeks' lingering suffering that followed the accidentHazel was never far from her father's bedside. It seemed as though a newbond of understanding had come between them. 

He was very low and there was little hope from the beginning. As he grewweaker he seemed never to want his daughter out of sight, and once whenhe woke suddenly to find her close beside him, a smile of relief spreadover his face, and he told her in brief words that he had dreamed shewas lost again in Arizona, and that he had been searching for her withthe wild beasts howling all about and wicked men prowling in dark caves. He told her how during that awful time of her disappearance he had beenhaunted by her face as she was a tiny baby after her mother died, and itseemed to him he should go mad if he could not find her at once. 

Then to soothe him she told him of the missionary, and how gently hehad cared for her; told him of all the pleasant little details of theway, though not, of course, of his love for her nor hers for him. Perhaps the father, with eyes keen from their nearness to the otherworld, discerned something of her interest as she talked, for once hesighed and said, in reference to the life of sacrifice the missionarywas leading: "Well, I don't know but such things are more worth whileafter all. "

And then with sudden impulse she told him of her finding his mother, andwhy she had wanted to go to the country in the middle of the societyseason, because she wanted to know more of the peaceful life this womanlived. 

"Perhaps you will meet him again. Who knows?" said the father, lookingwistfully at his lovely daughter, and then he turned his head away andsighed again. 

As the confidence grew between them she told him one day of MiltonHamar's unwelcome proposal, and the indignation of the father knew nobounds. 

It was after that she ventured to read to him from the little book, andto tell of the worship held out under the stars in the desert. It cameto be a habit between them, as the days grew less, that she should readthe little book, and afterwards he would always lie still as if he wereasleep. 

It was on the words of the precious psalm that he closed his eyes forthe last time in this world, and it was the psalm that brought comfortto the daughter's heart when she came back to the empty house after thefuneral. 

Her brother was there, it is true, but he was afraid of death, andwanted to get back to his world again, back to the European trip wherehe had left his friends, and especially a gay young countess who hadsmiled upon him. He was impatient of death and sorrow. Hazel saw that hecould not comprehend her loneliness, so she bade him go as soon asdecency would allow, and he was not long in obeying her. He had had hisown way all his life, and even death was not to deny him. 

The work of the trained nurses who had cared for her father interestedHazel deeply. She had talked with them about their life and preparationfor it, and when she could no longer stand the great empty house withonly Aunt Maria for company, who had come back just before Mr. Radcliffe's death, she determined to become a nurse herself. 

There was much ado over her decision among her acquaintances, and AuntMaria thought it was not quite respectable for her to do so eccentric athing and so soon after her father's death. She would have preferred tohave had her run down to Lakewood for a few weeks and then follow herbrother across the water for a year or two of travel; but Hazel wasquite determined, and before January was over she was established in thehospital, through the influence of their family physician, andundergoing her first initiation. 

It was not easy thus to give up her life of doing exactly as she pleasedwhen she pleased, and become a servant under orders. Her back oftenached, and her eyes grew heavy with the watching and the ministering, and she would be almost ready to give over. Then the thought of the manof the desert gave her new courage and strength. It came to her that shewas partaking with him in the great work of the kingdom, and with thisthought she would rise and go about the strange new work again, untilher interest in the individuals to whom she ministered grew deep, andshe understood in a measure the reason for the glory in the face of themissionary as he spoke in the starlight about his work. 

Often her heart went out wistfully towards her invalid friend in NewHampshire, and she would rest herself by writing a long letter, andwould cherish the delicately written answers. Now and again there wouldbe some slight reference to "my son" in these letters. As the springcame on they were more frequent, for May would bring the GeneralAssembly, and the son was to be one of the speakers. How her heartthrobbed when she read that this was certain now. A few days later whenshe happened to read in the daily paper some item about Assembly plansand discovered for the first time that it was to meet in New York, shefound herself in a flutter of joy. Would it be possible for her to hearhim speak? That was the great question that kept coming and going in hermind. Could she arrange it so that she would be sure to be off duty whenhis time came to speak? How could she find out about it all? Thereafterher interest in the church news of the daily papers became deep. 

Then spring came on with its languid air and the hard round of work, with often a call to watch when overcome with weariness, or to do someunaccustomed task that tried her undisciplined soul. But the papers werefull of the coming Assembly, and at last the program and his name!

She laid her plans most carefully, but the case she had been put uponthat week was very low, dying, and the woman had taken a fancy to herand begged her to stay by her till the end. It was a part of the newHazel that she stayed, though her heart rose up in protest and tears ofdisappointment would keep coming to her eyes. The head nurse marked themwith disapproval and told the house doctor that Radcliffe would nevermake much of a nurse; she had no control over her emotions. 

Death came, almost too late, and set her free for the afternoon, but itwas but half an hour to the time set for his speech, she was three milesfrom the place of meeting and still in her uniform. It was almostfoolish to try. Nevertheless she hurried to her room and slipped into aplain little street suit, the thing that would go on quickest, and wasaway. 

It seemed as though every cab and car and mode of transit had conspiredto hinder her, and five minutes before the time set for the next speechshe hurried breathless into the dim hallway of a great crowded church, and pressed up the stairs to the gallery, through the silent leatherdoors that could scarcely swing open for the crowd inside them, andheard at last--_his_ voice!

She was away up at the top of the gallery. Men and women were standingclose all about her. She could not catch even a glimpse of the platformwith its array of noble men whose consecration and power and intellectshad made them great religious leaders. She could not see the youngcommanding figure standing at the edge of the platform, nor catch theflash of his brown eyes as he held the audience in his power while hetold the simple story of his Western work; but she could hear the voice, and it went straight to her lonely, sorrowful heart. Straightway thechurch with its mass of packed humanity, its arched and carven ceiling, its magnificent stained-glass windows, its wonderful organ and costlyfittings, faded from her sight, and overhead there arched a dome of darkblue pierced with stars, and mountains in the distance with a canyonopening, and a flickering fire. She heard the voice speak from itsnatural setting, though her eyes were closed and full of tears. 

He finished his story amid a breathless silence on the part of hisaudience, and then with scarcely a break in his voice spoke to God inone of his uplifting prayers. The girl, trembling, almost sobbing, feltherself included in the prayer, felt again the protection of an unseenPresence, felt the benediction in his voice as he said, "Amen, " andechoed its utmost meaning in her soul. 

The audience was still hushed as the speaker turned to go to his seat atthe back of the platform. A storm of applause had been made impossibleby that prayer, for heaven opened with the words and God looked down andhad to do with each soul present. But the applause burst forth after allin a moment, for the speaker had whispered a few words to the moderatorand was hurrying from the platform. There were cries of, "Don't go! Tellus more! Keep on till six o'clock!" Hazel could not see a thing thoughshe stretched her neck and stood upon the tips of her toes, but sheclasped her hands tightly together when the applause came, and her heartechoed every sound. 

The clamour ceased a moment as the moderator raised his hand, andexplained that the brother to whom they had all been listening with suchpleasure would be glad to speak to them longer, but that he washastening away to take the train to see his invalid mother who had beenwaiting for two long years for her boy. A pause, a great sigh ofsympathy and disappointment, and then the applause burst forth again, and continued till the young missionary had left the church. 

Hazel, in bitter disappointment, turned and slipped out. She had notcaught a glimpse of his beloved face. She exulted that she had heard thehonour given him, been a part of those who rejoiced in his power andconsecration, but she could not have him go without having at least onelook at him. 

She hurried blindly down the stairs, out to the street, and saw acarriage standing before the door. The carriage door had just beenclosed, but as she gazed he turned and looked out for an instant, lifting his hat in farewell to a group of ministers who stood on thechurch steps. Then the carriage whirled him away and the world grewsuddenly blank. 

She had been behind the men on the steps, just within the shadow of thedim doorway. He had not seen her, and of course would not haverecognized her if he had; yet now she realized that she hadhoped--oh--what had she not hoped from meeting him here!

But he was gone, and it might be years before he came East again. He hadutterly put her from his life. He would not think of her again if he didcome! Oh, the loneliness of a world like this! Why, oh why, had she evergone to the desert to learn the emptiness of her life, when there wasno other for her anywhere!

The days that followed were very sad and hard. The only thought thathelped now was that she too had tried to give her life for somethingworth while as he had done, and perhaps it might be accepted. But therewas a deep unrest in her soul now, a something that she knew she had notgot that she longed inexpressibly to have. She had learned to cook andto nurse. She was not nearly so useless as when she rode all care-freeupon the desert. She had overcome much of her unworthiness. But therewas still one great obstacle which unfitted her for companionship andpartnership with the man of the desert. She had not the something in herheart and life that was the source and centre of self-sacrifice. She wasstill unworthy. 

There was a long letter about the first of June from her friend in NewHampshire, more shakily written, she fancied, than those that had comebefore, and then there came an interval without any reply to hers. Shehad little time, however, to worry about it, for the weather wasunusually warm and the hospital was full. Her strength was taxed to itsutmost to fill her round of daily duties. Aunt Maria scolded andinsisted on a vacation, and finally in high dudgeon betook herself toEurope for the summer. The few friends with whom Hazel kept up anyintercourse hurried away to mountains or sea, and the summer settleddown to business. 

And now in the hot, hot nights when she lay upon her small bed, tooweary almost to sleep, she would fancy she heard again that voice as hespoke in the church, or longer ago in the desert; and sometimes shecould think she felt the breeze of the desert night upon her hotforehead. 

The head nurse and the house doctor decided Radcliffe needed a changeand suggested a few days at the shore with a convalescing patient, butHazel's heart turned from the thought, and she insisted upon sticking toher post. She clung to the thought that she could at least be faithful. It was what he would do, and in so much she would be like him, andworthy of his love. 

It was the last thought in her mind before she fainted on the broadmarble staircase with a tiny baby in her arms, and fell to the bottom. The baby was uninjured, but it took a long time to bring the nurse backto consciousness, and still longer to put heart into her again. 

"She isn't fit for the work!" she heard the biting tongue of the headnurse declare. "She's too frail and pretty and--emotional. She feelseverybody's troubles. Now I never let a case worry me in the least!" Andthe house doctor eyed her knowingly and said in his heart:

"Any one would know that. "

But Hazel, listening, was more disheartened than ever. Then here, too, she was failing and was adjudged unworthy!

The next morning there came a brief, blunt note from Amelia Ellen: "DearMis Raclift Ef yore a trainurse why don't yo cum an' take car o' my MisBrownleigh She aint long fer heer an she's wearyin to see yo She asgotta hev one, a trainurse I mean Yors respectfooly Amelia Ellen Stout. "

After an interview with the house doctor and another with her old familyphysician, Hazel packed up her uniforms and departed for New Hampshire. 

It was the evening of her arrival, after the gentle invalid had beenprepared for sleep and left in the quiet and dark, that Amelia Ellentold the story:

"She ain't ben the same since John went back. Seems like she sort o'sensed thet he wouldn't come again while she was livin'. She tole me thenext day a lot of things she wanted done after she was gone, and she'sben gettin' ready to leave this earth ever since. Not that she's gloomy, oh, my senses no! She's jes' as interested as can be in her flowers, andin folks, an' the church, but she don't want to try to do so manythings, and she has them weak, fainty spells oftener, an' more pain inher heart. She sits fer long hours with jest her Bible open now, butland, she don't need to read it! She knows it most by heart--that is thelivin' parts, you know. She don't seem to care 'tall fer them magazinearticles now any more. I wish t' the land they'd be anuther Gen'l'Sembly! Thet was the greatest thing fer her. She jest acted like shewas tendin' every blessed one o' them meetin's. Why, she couldn't waitfer me t' git done my breakfast dishes. She'd want me t' fix her up ferthe day, an' then set down an' read their doin's. 'We kin let things go, you know, 'Meelia Ellen, ' she'd say with her sweet little smile, 'justwhile the meetin's last. Then when it's over they'll be time 'nough ferwork--an' rest too, 'Meelia Ellen, ' says she. Well, seems like she wasjust 'tendin' those meetin's herself, same es if she was there. She'dtake her nap like it was a pill, er somethin', and then be wide awakean' ready fer her afternoon freshenin', an' then she'd watch fer thestage to bring the evenin' paper. John, he hed a whole cartload o'papers sent, an' the day he spoke they was so many I jes' couldn't getmy bread set. I hed to borry a loaf off the inn. First time that's everhappened to me either. I jest hed to set an' read till my back ached, and my eyes swum. I never read so much in my whole borned days t' oncet;an' I've done a good bit o' readin' in my time, too, what with nursin'her an' bein' companion to a perfessor's invaleed daughter one summer. 

"Wal, seems like she jest went on an' on, gettin' workeder-up an'workeder-up, till the 'Sembly closed, an' he come; and she was clear tothe top o' the heap all them three weeks whilst he was here. Why, Inever seen her so bright since when I was a little girl an' went to herSunday-school class, an' she wore a poke bonnet trimmed with lute-stringribbon an' a rose inside. Talk 'bout roses--they wasn't one in thegarden as bright an' pink as her two cheeks, an' her eyes shone jest ferall the world like his. I was terrible troubled lest she'd break down, but she didn't. She got brighter an' brighter. Let him take her outridin', an' let him carry her into the orchard an' lay her down underthe apple boughs where she could reach a wild strawberry herself. Why, she hedn't ben off'n the porch sence he went away two years ago. Butevery day he stayed she got brighter. The last day 'fore he left sheseemed like she wasn't sick at all. She wanted to get up early, an' shewouldn't take no nap, 'cause she said she couldn't waste a minute of thelast day. Well, she actu'lly got on her feet oncet an' made him walk hercrost the porch. She hedn't ben on her feet fer more'n a minute fer tenmonths, an' 'twas more'n she could stan'. She was jest as bright an'happy all thet day, an' when he went 'way she waved her hand as happylike an' smiled an' said she was glad to be able to send him back to hiswork. But she never said a word about his comin' back. He kep' sayin' hewould come back next spring, but she only smiled, an' tole him he mightnot be able to leave his work, an' 'twas all right. She wanted him to befaithful. 

"Well, he went, an' the coach hedn't no more'n got down the hill an' upagain an' out o' sight behind the bridge 'fore she calls to me an' shesays, ''Meelia Ellen, I believe I'm tired with all the goin's on there'sbeen, an' if you don't mind I think I'll take a nap. ' So I helps herinto her room and fixes her into her night things an' thur she's laidever since, an' it's six whole weeks ef it's a day. Every mornin' fer aspell I'd go in an' say, 'Ain't you ready fer me to fix you fer the day, Mis' Brownleigh?' An' she'd jest smile an' say, 'Well, I b'leeve notjust now, 'Meelia Ellen. I think I'll just rest to-day yet. Maybe I'llfeel stronger to-morrow'; but to-morrow never comes, an' it's mythinkin' she'll never git up agin. "

The tears were streaming down the good woman's cheeks now and Hazel'seyes were bright with tears too. She had noticed the transparency of thedelicate flesh, the frailness of the wrinkled hands. The woman's wordsbrought conviction to her heart also. 

"What does the doctor say?" she asked, catching at a hope. 

"Well, he ain't much fer talk, " said Amelia Ellen lifting hertear-stained face from her gingham apron where it had been bowed. "Itseems like them two hev just got a secret between 'em thet they won'tsay nothin' 'bout it. Seems like he understands, and knows she don'twant folks to talk about it nor worry 'bout her. "

"But her son----" faltered Hazel. "He ought to be told!"

"Yes, but 'tain't no use; she won't let yeh. I ast her oncet didn't shewant me to write him to come an' make her a little visit just to chirkher up, and she shook her head and looked real frightened, and she says:''Meelia Ellen, don't you never go to sendin' fer him 'thout lettin' meknow. I should _not_ like it _'tall_. He's out there doin' his work, an'I'm happier havin' him at it. A missionary can't take time traipsin'round the country every time a relative gets a little down. I'm jestperfectly all right, 'Meelia Ellen, only I went pretty hard durin''Sembly week, and when John was here, an' I'm restin' up fer a while. IfI want John sent fer I'll tell you, but _don't you go to doin' it'fore_!' An' I really b'leeve she'd be mad at me if I did. She lots agood deal on givin' her son, an' it would sort o' spoil her sakkerfize, I s'pose, to hev him come back every time she hungers fer him. I b'leevein my heart she's plannin' to slip away quiet and not bother him to saygood-bye. It jest looks thet way to me. "

But the next few days the invalid brightened perceptibly, and Hazelbegan to be reassured. Sweet converse they had together, and the girlheard the long pleasant story of the son's visit home as the motherdwelt lovingly upon each detail, telling it over and over, until thelistener felt that every spot within sight of the invalid's window wasfragrant with his memory. She enjoyed the tale as much as the teller, and knew just how to give the answer that one loving woman wants fromanother loving woman when they speak of the beloved. 

Then when the story all was told over and over and there was nothingmore to tell except the pleasant recalling of a funny speech, or sometender happening, Hazel began to ask deeper questions about the thingsof life and eternity; and step by step the older woman led her in thepath she had led her son through all the years of his childhood. 

During this time she seemed to grow stronger again. There were days whenshe sat up for a little while, and let them put the meals on a tinyswinging table by her chair; and she took a deep interest in leading thegirl to a heavenly knowledge. Every day she asked for her writingmaterials and wrote for a little while; yet Hazel noticed that she didnot send all that she had written in the envelope of the weekly letters, but laid it away carefully in her writing portfolio as if it weresomething yet unfinished. 

And one evening in late September, when the last rays of the sunset werelying across the foot of the wheeled chair, and Amelia Ellen wasbuilding a bit of a fire in the fireplace because it seemed chilly, themother called Hazel to her and handed her a letter sealed and addressedto her son. 

"Dear, " she said gently, "I want you to take this letter and put it awaycarefully and keep it until I am gone, and then I want you to promisethat, if possible for you to do it, you will give it to my son with yourown hands. "

Hazel took the letter reverently, her heart filled with awe and sorrowand stooped anxiously over her friend. "Oh, why"--she cried--"what isthe matter? Do you feel worse to-night? You have seemed so bright allday. "

"Not a bit, " said the invalid cheerily. "But I have been writing thisfor a long time--a sort of good-bye to my boy--and there is nobody inthe world I would like to have give it to him as well as you. Will ittrouble you to promise me, my dear?"

Hazel with kisses and tears protested that she would be glad to fulfillthe mission, but begged that she might be allowed to send for thebeloved son at once, for a sight of his face, she knew, would be good tohis mother. 

At last her fears were allayed, though she was by no means sure thatthe son ought not to be sent for, and when the invalid was happily goneto sleep, Hazel went to her room and tried to think how she might writea letter that would not alarm the young man, while yet it would bringhim to his mother's side. She planned how she would go away herself fora few days, so that he need not find her here. She wrote several stifflittle notes but none of them satisfied her. Her heart longed to write:"Oh, my dear! Come quickly, for your beloved mother needs you. Come, formy heart is crying out for the sight of you! Come at once!" But finallybefore she slept she sealed and addressed a dignified letter from MissRadcliffe, his mother's trained nurse, suggesting that he make at leasta brief visit at this time as she must be away for a few days, and shefelt that his presence would be a wise thing. His mother did not seem sowell as when he was with her. Then she lay down comforted to sleep. Butthe letter was never sent. 

In the early dawn of the morning, when the faithful Amelia Ellen slippedfrom her couch in the alcove just off the invalid's room, and went totouch a match to the carefully laid fire in the fireplace, she passedthe bed and, as had been her custom for years, glanced to see if allwas well with her patient; at once she knew that the sweet spirit of themother had fled. 

With her face slightly turned away, a smile of good-night upon her lips, and the peace of God upon her brow, the mother had entered into herrest. 

XIII

THE CALL OF THE DESERT

Hazel, with her eyes blinded with tears and her heart swelling with theloss of the woman upon whose motherliness she had come to feel a claim, burned the letter she had written the night before, and sent a carefullyworded telegram, her heart yearning with sympathy towards the bereavedson. 

"Your dear mother has gone home, quietly, in her sleep. She did not seemany worse than usual, and her last words were of you. Let us know atonce what plans we shall make. Nurse Radcliffe. " That was the telegramshe sent. 

Poor Amelia Ellen was all broken up. Her practical common sense for oncehad fled her. She would do nothing but weep and moan for the belovedinvalid whom she had served so long and faithfully. It fell to Hazel tomake all decisions, though the neighbours and old friends were most kindwith offers of help. Hazel waited anxiously for an answer to thetelegram, but night fell and no answer had come. There had been a stormand something was wrong with the wires. The next morning, however, shesent another telegram, and about noon still a third, with as yet noresponse. She thought perhaps he had not waited to telegraph but hadstarted immediately, and might be with them in a few hours. She watchedthe evening stage, but he did not come; then realized how her heart wasin a flutter, and wondered how she would have had strength to meet himhad he come. There was the letter from his mother, and her promise. Shehad that excuse for her presence--of course she could not have leftunder the circumstances. Yet she shrank from the meeting, for it seemedsomehow a breach of etiquette that she should be the one to break theseparation that he had chosen should be between them. 

However, he did not come, and the third morning, when it becameimperative that something definite should be known, a telegram to thestation agent in Arizona brought answer that the missionary was away ona long trip among some tribes of Indians; that his exact whereabouts wasnot known, but messengers had been sent after him, and word would besent as soon as possible. The minister and the old neighbours advisedwith Amelia Ellen and Hazel, and made simple plans for the funeral, yethoped and delayed as long as possible, and when at last after repeatedtelegrams there still came the answer, "Messenger not yet returned, "they bore the worn-out body of the woman to a quiet resting place besideher beloved husband in the churchyard on the hillside where the softmaples scattered bright covering over the new mound, and the sky archedhigh with a kind of triumphant reminder of where the spirit was gone. 

Hazel tried to have every detail just as she thought he would have likedit. The neighbours brought of their homely flowers in great quantities, and some city friends who had been old summer boarders sent hot-houseroses. The minister conducted the beautiful service of faith, and thevillage children sang about the casket of their old friend, who hadalways loved every one of them, their hands full of the late flowersfrom her own garden, bright scarlet and blue and gold, as though it werea joyous occasion. Indeed, Hazel had the impression, even as she movedin the hush of the presence of death, that she was helping at somesolemn festivity of deep joy instead of a funeral--so glorious had beenthe hope of the one who was gone, so triumphant her faith in herSaviour. 

After the funeral was over Hazel sat down and wrote a letter tellingabout it all, filling it with sympathy, trying to show their effort tohave things as he would have liked them, and expressing deep sorrow thatthey had been compelled to go on with the service without him. 

That night there came a message from the Arizona station agent. Themissionary had been found in a distant Indian hogan with a dislocatedankle. He sent word that they must not wait for him; that he would getthere in time, if possible. A later message the next day said he wasstill unable to travel, but would get to the railroad as soon aspossible. Then came an interval of several days without any word fromArizona. 

Hazel went about with Amelia Ellen, putting the house in order, hearingthe beautiful plaint of the loving-hearted, mourning servant as she toldlittle incidents of her mistress. Here was the chair she sat in the lasttime she went up-stairs to oversee the spring regulating, and that wasMr. John's little baby dress in which he was christened. His mothersmoothed it out and told her the story of his baby loveliness one day. She had laid it away herself in the box with the blue shoes and thecrocheted cap. It was the last time she ever came up-stairs. 

There was the gray silk dress she wore to weddings and dinner partiesbefore her husband died, and beneath it in the trunk was the whiteembroidered muslin that was her wedding gown. Yellow with age it was, and delicate as a spider's web, with frostwork of yellowed broiderystrewn quaintly on its ancient form, and a touch of real lace. Hazellaid a reverent hand on the fine old fabric, and felt, as she lookedthrough the treasures of the old trunk, that an inner sanctuary ofsweetness had been opened for her glimpsing. 

At last a letter came from the West. 

It was addressed to "Miss Radcliffe, Nurse, " in Brownleigh's firm, clearhand, and began: "Dear madam. " Hazel's hand trembled as she opened it, and the "dear madam" brought the tears to her eyes; but then, of course, he did not know. 

He thanked her, with all the kindliness and courtliness of his mother'sson, for her attendance on his dear mother, and told her of manypleasant things his mother had written of her ministrations. He spokebriefly of his being laid up lamed in the Indian reservation and hisdeep grief that he had been unable to come East to be beside his motherduring her last hours, but went on to say that it had been his mother'swish, many times expressed, that he should not leave his post to come toher, and that there need be "no sadness of farewell" when she"embarked, " and that though it was hard for him he knew it was afulfillment of his mother's desires. And now that she was gone, and thelast look upon her dear face was impossible, he had decided that hecould not bear it just yet to come home and see all the dear familiarplaces with her face gone. He would wait a little while, until he hadgrown used to the thought of her in heaven, and then it would not be sohard. Perhaps he would not come home until next spring, unless somethingcalled him; he could not tell. And in any case, his injured ankleprevented him making the journey at present, no matter how much he maydesire to do so. Miss Radcliffe's letter had told him that everythinghad been done just as he would have had it done. There was nothingfurther to make it a necessity that he should come. He had written tohis mother's lawyer to arrange his mother's few business affairs, and itonly remained for him to express his deep gratitude towards those whohad stood by his dear mother when it had been made impossible for himto do so. He closed with a request that the nurse would give him herpermanent address that he might be sure to find her when he found itpossible to come East again, as he would enjoy thanking her face to facefor what she had been to his mother. 

That was all. 

Hazel felt a blank dizziness settle down over her as she finished theletter. It put him miles away from her again, with years perhaps beforeanother sight of him. She suddenly seemed fearfully alone in a worldthat no longer interested her. Where should she go; what to do with herlife now? Back to the hard grind of the hospital with nobody to care, and the heartrending scenes and tragedies that were daily enacted?Somehow her strength seemed to go from her at the thought. Here, too, she had failed. She was not fit for the life, and the hospital peoplehad discovered it and sent her away to nurse her friend and try to getwell. They had been kind and talked about when she should return tothem, but she knew in her heart they felt her unfit and did not want herback. 

Should she go back to her home, summon her brother and aunt, and plungeinto society again? The very idea sickened her. Never again would shecare for that life, she was certain. As she searched her heart to seewhat it was she really craved, if anything in the whole wide world, shefound her only interest was in the mission field of Arizona, and nowthat her dear friend was gone she was cut off from knowing anything muchabout that. 

She gathered herself together after a while and told Amelia Ellen of thedecision of Mr. Brownleigh, and together they planned how the houseshould be closed, and everything put in order to await its master's willto return. But that night Hazel could not sleep, for suddenly, in themidst of her sad reflections, came the thought of the letter that wasleft in her trust. 

It had been forgotten during the strenuous days that had followed thedeath of its writer. Hazel had thought of it only once, and that on thefirst morning, with a kind of comforting reflection that it would helpthe son to bear his sorrow, and she was glad that it was her privilegeto put it into his hand. Then the perplexities of the occasion haddriven it from her thoughts. Now it came back like a swift light in adark place. There was yet the letter which she must give him. It was aprecious bond that would hold him to her for a little while longer. Buthow should she give it to him?

Should she send it by mail? No, for that would not be fulfilling theletter of her promise. She knew the mother wished her to give it to himherself. Well, then, should she write and summon him to his old home atonce, tell him of the letter and yet refuse to send it to him? Howstrange that would seem! How could she explain it to him? His mother'swhim might be sacred to him--would be, of course--but he would think itstrange that a young woman should make so much of it as not to trust theletter to the mail now that the circumstances made it impossible for himto come on at once. 

Neither would it do for her to keep the letter until such a time as heshould see fit to return to the East and look her up. It might be years. 

The puzzling question kept whirling itself about in her mind for hoursuntil at last she formulated a plan which seemed to solve the problem. 

The plan was this. She would coax Amelia Ellen to take a trip toCalifornia with her, and on the way they would stop in Arizona and givethe letter into the hands of the young man. By that time no doubt hisinjured ankle would be sufficiently strong to allow his return from thejourney to the Indian reservation. She would say that she was going Westand, as she had promised his mother she would put the letter into hishands, she had taken this opportunity to stop off and keep her promise. The trip would be a good thing for Amelia Ellen too, and take her mindoff her loneliness for the mistress who was gone. 

Eagerly she broached the subject to Amelia Ellen the next morning, andwas met with a blank face of dismay. 

"I couldn't noways you'd fix it, my dearie, " she said sadly shaking herhead. "I'd like nuthin' better'n to see them big trees out in CalifornyI've been hearin' 'bout all my life; an' summer an' winter with snow onthe mountains what some of the boarders 't the inn tells 'bout; but Ican't bring it 'bout. You see it's this way. Peter Burley 'n' I benpromused fer nigh on to twelve year now, an' when he ast me I said no, Icouldn't leave Mis' Brownleigh long's she needed me; an' he sez will Imarry him the week after she dies, an' I sez I didn't like no sechdismal way o' puttin' it; an' he sez well, then, will I marry him theweek after she don't need me no more; an' I sez yes, I will, an' now Igotta keep my promus! I can't go back on my faithful word. I'd likereal well to see them big trees, but I gotta keep my promus! You seehe's waited long 'nough, an' he's ben real patient. Not always he cudget to see me every week, an' he might 'a' tuk Delmira that cooked tothe inn five year ago. She'd 'a' had him in a minnit, an' she done herbest to git him, but he stayed faithful, an' he sez, sez he, ''MeeliaEl'n, ef you're meanin' to keep your word, I'll wait ef it's a lifetime, but I hope you won't make it any longer'n you need;' an' the night hesaid that I promused him agin I'd be hisn soon ez ever I was free todo's I pleased. I'd like to see them big trees, but I can't do it. Ijes' can't do it. "

Now Hazel was not a young woman who was easily balked in her plans whenonce they were made. She was convinced that the only thing to do was totake this trip and that Amelia Ellen was the only person in the worldshe wanted for a companion; therefore she made immediate acquaintancewith Peter Burley, a heavy-browed, thoughtful, stolid man, who lookedhis character of patient lover, every inch of him, blue overalls andall. Hazel's heart almost misgave her as she unfolded her plan to hisastonished ears, and saw the look of blank dismay that overspread hisface. However, he had not waited all these years to refuse hissweetheart anything in reason now. He drew a deep sigh, inquired howlong the trip as planned would take, allowed he "could wait anothermonth ef that would suit, " and turned patiently to his barn-yard tothink his weary thoughts, and set his hopes a little further ahead. ThenHazel's heart misgave her. She called after him and suggested thatperhaps he might like to have the marriage first and go with them, taking the excursion as a wedding trip. She would gladly pay allexpenses if he would. But the man shook his head. 

"I couldn't leave the stock fer that long, ennyhow you fix it. Thurain't no one would know to take my place. Besides, I never was fertakin' journeys; but 'Meelia Ellen, she's allus ben of a sprightlierdisposition, an' ef she hez a hankerin' after Californy, I 'spect she'llbe kinder more contented like ef she sees 'em first an' then settlesdown in Granville. She better go while she's got the chancet. "

Amelia Ellen succumbed, albeit with tears. Hazel could not tell whethershe was more glad or sad at the prospect before her. Whiles Amelia Ellenwept and bemoaned the fate of poor Burley, and whiles she questionedwhether there really were any big trees like what you saw in thegeographies with riding parties sitting contentedly in tunnels throughtheir trunks. But at last she consented to go, and with many aninjunction from the admiring and envious neighbours who came to see themoff, Amelia Ellen bade a sobbing good-bye to her solemn lover in thegray dawn of an October morning, climbed into the stage beside Hazel, and they drove away into the mystery of the great world. As she lookedback at her Peter, standing patient, stooped and gray in the familiarvillage street, looking after his departing sweetheart who was going outsightseeing into the world, Amelia Ellen would almost have jumped outover the wheel and run back if it had not been for what the neighbourswould say, for her heart was Burley's; and now that the big trees wereactually pulling harder than Burley, and she had decided to go and seethem, Burley began by his very acquiescence to pull harder than the bigtrees. It was a very teary Amelia Ellen who climbed into the train a fewhours later, looking back dismally, hopelessly, towards the old stagethey had just left, and wondering after all if she ever would get backto Granville safe and alive again. Strange fears visited her of dangersthat might come to Burley during her absence, which if they did shewould never forgive herself for having left him; strange horrors of theway of things that might hinder her return; and she began to regard herhitherto beloved travelling companion with almost suspicion, as if shewere a conspirator against her welfare. 

However, as the miles grew and the wonders of the way multiplied, AmeliaEllen began to sit up and take notice, and to have a sort of excitedexultance that she had come; for were they not nearing the great famedWest now, and would it not soon be time to see the big trees and turnback home again? She was almost glad she had come. She would be whollyglad she had done so when she had got back safely home once more. 

And so one evening about sunset they arrived at the little station inArizona which over a year ago Hazel had left in her father's privatecar. 

XIV

HOME

Amelia Ellen, stiff from the unaccustomed travel, powdered with the dustof the desert, wearied with the excitement of travel and lack of sleepamid her strange surroundings, stepped down upon the wooden platform andsurveyed the magnificent distance between herself and anywhere; observedthe vast emptiness, with awful purpling mountains and limitlessstretches of vari-coloured ground arched by a dome of sky, higher andwider and more dazzling than her stern New Hampshire soul had everconceived, and turned panic-stricken back to the train which was alreadymoving away from the little station. Her first sensation had been one ofrelief at feeling solid ground under her feet once more, for this wasthe first trip into the world Amelia Ellen had ever made, and the carsbewildered her. Her second impulse was to get back into that train asfast as her feet could carry her and get this awful journey done so thatshe might earn the right to return to her quiet home and her faithfullover. 

But the train was well under way. She looked after it half in envy. Itcould go on with its work and not have to stop in this wild waste. 

She gazed about again with the frightened look a child deserted givesbefore it puckers its lips and screams. 

Hazel was talking composedly with the rough-looking man on the platform, who wore a wide felt hat and a pistol in his belt. He didn't look evenrespectable to Amelia Ellen's provincial eyes. And behind him, horror ofhorrors! loomed a real live Indian, long hair, high cheek bones, blanketand all, just as she had seen them in the geography! Her blood ran cold!Why, oh why, had she ever been left to do this daring thing--to leavecivilization and come away from her good man and the quiet home awaitingher to certain death in the desert. All the stories of horrid scalpingsshe had ever heard appeared before her excited vision. With a gasp sheturned again to the departing train, which had become a mere speck onthe desert, and even as she looked vanished around a curve and was lostin the dim foot-hills of a mountain!

Poor Amelia Ellen! Her head reeled and her heart sank. The vast prairieengulfed her, as it were, and she stood trembling and staring in dazedexpectancy of an attack from earth or air or sky. The very sky andground seemed tottering together and threatening to extinguish her, andshe closed her eyes, caught her breath and prayed for Peter. It had beenher habit always in any emergency to pray for Peter Burley. 

It was no better when they took her to the eating-house across thetrack. She picked her way among the evil-looking men, and surveyed thelong dining table with its burden of coarse food and its board seatswith disdain, declined to take off her hat when she reached the room towhich the slatternly woman showed them because she said there was noplace to lay it down that was fit; scorned the simple bed, refused towash her hands at the basin furnished for all, and made herself moredisagreeable than Hazel had dreamed her gentle, serviceable Amelia Ellenever could have been. No supper would she eat, nor would she remain longat the table after the men began to file in, with curious eyes towardsthe strangers. 

She stalked to the rough, unroofed porch in the front and stared off atthe dark vastness, afraid of the wild strangeness, afraid of thelooming mountains, afraid of the multitude of stars. She said it wasridiculous to have so many stars. It wasn't natural. It was irreverent. It was like looking too close into heaven when you weren't intended to. 

And then a blood-curdling sound arose! It made her very hair stand onend. She turned with wild eyes and grasped Hazel's arm, but she was toofrightened to utter a sound. Hazel had just come out to sit with her. The men out of deference to the strangers had withdrawn from theircustomary smoking place on the porch to the back of the wood-pile behindthe house. They were alone--the two women--out there in the dark, withthat awful, awful sound!

Amelia Ellen's white lips framed the words "Indians"? "War-whoop"? buther throat refused her sound and her breath came short. 

"Coyotes!" laughed Hazel, secure in her wide experience, with almost ajoyous ring to her voice. The sound of those distant beasts assured herthat she was in the land of her beloved at last and her soul rejoiced. 

"Coy--oh----" but Amelia Ellen's voice was lost in the recesses of herskimpy pillow whither she had fled to bury her startled ears. She hadheard of coyotes, but she had never imagined to hear one outside of azoölogical garden, of which she had read and always hoped one day tovisit. There she lay on her hard little bed and quaked until Hazel, laughing still, came to find her; but all she could get from the poorsoul was a pitiful plaint about Burley. "And what would he say if I wasto be et with one of them creatures? He'd never forgive me, never, nevers'long 's I lived! I hadn't ough' to 'a' come. I hadn't ough' to 'a'come!"

Nothing Hazel could say would allay her fears. She listened with horroras the girl attempted to show how harmless the beasts were by telling ofher own night ride up the canyon, and how nothing harmed her. AmeliaEllen merely looked at her with frozen glance made fiercer by theflickering candle flare, and answered dully: "An' you knew 'bout 'em all'long, an' yet you brung me! It ain't what I thought you'd do! Burley, he'll never fergive me s'long 's I live ef I get et up. It ain't ez if Iwas all alone in the world, you know. I got him to think of an' I can'tafford to run no resks of bein' et, _ef you can_. "

Not a wink of sleep did she get that night and when the morning dawnedand to the horrors of the night were added a telegram from a neighbourof Burley's saying that Burley had fallen from the haymow and broken hisleg, but he sent his respects and hoped they'd have a good journey, Amelia Ellen grew uncontrollable. She declared she would not stay inthat awful country another minute. That she would take the first trainback--back to her beloved New Hampshire which she never again wouldleave so long as her life was spared, unless Burley went along. Shewould not even wait until Hazel had delivered her message. How could twolone women deliver a message in a land like that? Never, _never_ wouldshe ride, drive or walk, no, nor even set foot on the sand of thedesert. She would sit by the track until a train came along and shewould not even look further than she need. The frenzy of fear whichsometimes possesses simple people at sight of a great body of water, ora roaring torrent pouring over a precipice, had taken possession of herat sight of the desert. It filled her soul with its immensity, and poorAmelia Ellen had a great desire to sit down on the wooden platform andgrasp firm hold of something until a train came to rescue her from thisawful emptiness which had tried to swallow her up. 

Poor Peter, with his broken leg, was her weird cry! One would think shehad broken it with the wheels of the car in which she had travelled awayfrom him by the way she took on about it and blamed herself. The tragedyof a broken vow and its consequences was the subject of her discourse. Hazel laughed, then argued, and finally cried and besought; but nothingcould avail. Go she would, and that speedily, back to her home. 

When it became evident that arguments and tears were of no use and thatAmelia Ellen was determined to go home with or without her, Hazelwithdrew to the front porch and took counsel with the desert in itsmorning brightness, with the purple luring mountains, and the smilingsky. Go back on the train that would stop at the station in half anhour, with the desert there, and the wonderful land, and its strange, wistful people, and not even see a glimpse of him she loved? Go backwith the letter still in her possession and her message still ungiven?Never! Surely she was not afraid to stay long enough to send for him. The woman who had fed them and sheltered them for the night would be herprotector. She would stay. There must be some woman of refinement andculture somewhere near by to whom she could go for a few days until hererrand was performed; and what was her training in the hospital worthif it did not give her some independence? Out here in the wild free Westwomen had to protect themselves. She could surely stay in theuncomfortable quarters where she was for another day until she could getword to the missionary. Then she could decide whether to proceed on herjourney alone to California, or to go back home. There was really noreason why she should not travel alone if she chose; plenty of youngwomen did and, anyway, the emergency was not of her choosing. AmeliaEllen would make herself sick fretting over her Burley, that was plain, if she were detained even a few hours. Hazel came back to the nearlydemented Amelia Ellen with her chin tilted firmly and a straight littleset of her sweet lips which betokened stubbornness. The train came in abrief space of time, and, weeping but firm, Amelia Ellen boarded it, dismayed at the thought of leaving her dear young lady, yet stubbornlydetermined to go. Hazel gave her the ticket and plenty of money, chargedthe conductor to look after her, waved a brave farewell and turned backto the desert alone. 

A brief conference with the woman who had entertained them, who was alsothe wife of the station agent, brought out the fact that the missionarywas not yet returned from his journey, but a message received from him afew days before spoke of his probable return on the morrow or the dayafter. The woman advised that the lady go to the fort where visitorswere always welcomed and where there were luxuries more fitted to thestranger's habit. She eyed the dainty apparel of her guest enviously asshe spoke, and Hazel, keenly alive to the meaning of her look, realizedthat the woman, like the missionary, had judged her unfit for life inthe desert. She was half determined to stay where she was until themissionary's return, and show that she could adapt herself to anysurroundings, but she saw that the woman was anxious to have her gone. It probably put her out to have a guest of another world than her own. 

The woman told her that a trusty Indian messenger was here from the fortand was riding back soon. If the lady cared she could get a horse and gounder his escort. She opened her eyes in wonder when Hazel asked ifthere was to be a woman in the party, and whether she could not leaveher work for a little while and ride over with them if she would pay herwell for the service. 

"Oh, you needn't bring none o' them fine lady airs out here!" shedeclared rudely. "We-all ain't got time fer no sech foolery. You needn'tbe afraid to go back with Joe. He takes care of the women at the fort. He'll look after you fine. You'll mebbe kin hire a horse to ride, an'strop yer baggage on. Yer trunk ye kin leave here. "

Hazel, half frightened at the position she had allowed herself to beplaced in, considered the woman's words, and when she had looked uponthe Indian's stolid countenance decided to accept his escort. He was anold man with furrowed face and sad eyes that looked as if they couldtell great secrets, but there was that in his face that made her trusthim, she knew not why. 

An hour later, her most necessary baggage strapped to the back of thesaddle on a wicked-looking little pony, Hazel, with a sense of deepexcitement, mounted and rode away behind the solemn, silent Indian. Shewas going to the fort to ask shelter, until her errand was accomplished, of the only women in that region who would be likely to take her in. Shehad a feeling that the thing she was doing was a most wild andunconventional proceeding and would come under the grave condemnation ofher aunt, and all her New York friends. She was most thankful that theywere far away and could not interfere, for somehow she felt that shemust do it anyway. She must put that letter, with her own hands, intothe possession of its owner. 

It was a most glorious morning. The earth and the heavens seemed newlymade for the day. Hazel felt a gladness in her soul that would not down, even when she thought of poor Amelia Ellen crouched in her corner of thesleeper, miserable at her desertion, yet determined to go. She thoughtof the dear mother, and wondered if 'twere given to her to know now howshe was trying to fulfill her last wish. It was pleasant to think sheknew and was glad, and Hazel felt as though her presence were near andprotecting her. 

The silent Indian made few remarks. He rode ahead always with a grave, thoughtful expression, like a student whose thoughts are not to bedisturbed. He nodded gravely in answer to the questions Hazel asked himwhenever they stopped to water the horses, but he volunteered noinformation beyond calling her attention to a lame foot her pony wasdeveloping. 

Several times Joe got down and examined the pony's foot, and shook hishead, with a grunt of worried disapproval. Presently as the miles wentby Hazel began to notice the pony's lameness herself, and became alarmedlest he would break down altogether in the midst of the desert. Thenwhat would the Indian do? Certainly not give her his horse and foot it, as the missionary had done. She could not expect that every man in thisdesert was like the one who had cared for her before. What a foolishgirl she had been to get herself into this fix! And now there was nofather to send out search parties for her, and no missionary at home tofind her!

The dust, the growing heat of the day, and the anxiety began to wearupon her. She was tired and hungry, and when at noon the Indiandismounted beside a water-hole where the water tasted of sheep who hadpassed through but a short time before, and handed her a package of cornbread and cold bacon, while he withdrew to the company of the horses forhis own siesta, she was feign to put her head down on the coarse grassand weep for her folly in coming out to this wild country alone, or atleast in being so headstrong as to stay when Amelia Ellen deserted her. Then the thought suddenly occurred to her: how would Amelia Ellen havefigured in this morning's journey on horseback; and instead of weepingshe fell to laughing almost hysterically. 

She munched the corn bread--the bacon she could not eat--and wondered ifthe woman at the stopping-place had realized what an impossible lunchshe had provided for her guest. However, here was one of the tests. Shewas not worth much if a little thing like coarse food annoyed her somuch. She drank some of the bitter water, and bravely ate a second pieceof corn bread and tried to hope her pony would be all right after hisrest. But it was evident after they had gone a mile or two further thatthe pony was growing worse. He lagged, and limped, and stopped, and itseemed almost cruel to urge him further, yet what could be done? TheIndian rode behind now, watching him and speaking in low grunts to himoccasionally, and finally they came in sight of a speck of a building inthe distance. Then the Indian spoke. Pointing towards the distantbuilding, which seemed too tiny for human habitation, he said: "Aneshodihogan. Him friend me. Lady stay. Me come back good horse. Pony no gomore. He bad!"

Dismay filled the heart of the lady. She gathered that her guide wishedto leave her by the way while he went on for another horse, and maybehe would return and maybe not. Meantime, what kind of a place was heleaving her in? Would there be a woman there? Even if she were an Indianwoman that would not be so bad. "Aneshodi" sounded as if it might be awoman's name. 

"Is this Aneshodi a woman?" she questioned. 

The Indian shook his head and grunted. "Na, na. Aneshodi, Aneshodi. Himfriend me. Him good friend. No woman!" (In scorn. )

"Is there no woman in the house?" she asked anxiously. 

"Na! Him heap good man. Good hogan. Lady stay. Rest. "

Suddenly her pony stumbled and nearly fell. She saw that she could notdepend on him for long now. 

"Couldn't I walk with you?" she asked, her eyes pleading. "I wouldrather walk than stay. Is it far?"

The Indian shook his head vigorously. 

"Lady no walk. Many suns lady walk. Great mile. Lady stay. Me ride fast. Back sundown, " and he pointed to the sun which was even now beginningits downward course. 

Hazel saw there was nothing for it but to do as the Indian said, andindeed his words seemed reasonable, but she was very much frightened. What kind of a place was this in which she was to stay? As they nearedit there appeared to be nothing but a little weather-beaten shanty, witha curiously familiar look, as if she had passed that way before. A fewchickens were picking about the yard, and a vine grew over the door, butthere was no sign of human being about and the desert stretched wide andbarren on every side. Her old fear of its vastness returned, and shebegan to have a fellow feeling with Amelia Ellen. She saw now that sheought to have gone with Amelia Ellen back to civilization and foundsomebody who would have come with her on her errand. But then the letterwould have been longer delayed!

The thought of the letter kept up her courage, and she descendeddubiously from her pony's back, and followed the Indian to the door ofthe shanty. The vine growing luxuriantly over window and casement anddoor frame reassured her somewhat, she could not tell just why. Perhapssomebody with a sense of beauty lived in the ugly little building, and aman with a sense of beauty could not be wholly bad. But how was she tostay alone in a man's house where no woman lived? Perhaps the man wouldhave a horse to lend or sell them. She would offer any sum he wanted ifshe only could get to a safe place. 

But the Indian did not knock at the door as she had expected he woulddo. Instead he stooped to the lower step, and putting his hand into asmall opening in the woodwork of the step, fumbled there a minute andpresently brought out a key which he fitted into the lock and threw thedoor wide open to her astonished gaze. 

"Him friend me!" explained the Indian again. 

He walked into the room with the manner of a partial proprietor of theplace, looked about, stooped down to the fireplace where a fire wasneatly laid, and set it blazing up cheerfully; took the water bucket andfilled it, and putting some water into the kettle swung it over theblaze to heat, then turning, he spoke again:

"Lady stay. Me come back--soon. Sun no go down. Me come back; good horseget lady. "

"But where is the owner of this house? What will he think of my beinghere when he comes back?" said Hazel, more frightened than ever at theprospect of being left. She had not expected to stay entirely alone. Shehad counted on finding some one in the house. 

"Aneshodi way off. Not come back one--two--day mebbe! He know me. He mefriend. Lady stay! All right!"

Hazel, her eyes large with fear, watched her protector mount and rideaway. Almost she called after him that he must not leave her; then sheremembered that this was a part of a woman's life in Arizona, and shewas being tried. It was just such things as this the missionary hadmeant when he said she was unfit for life out here. She would stay andbear the loneliness and fright. She would prove, at least to herself, that she had the courage of any missionary. She would not bear theignominy of weakness and failure. It would be a shame to her all herlife to know she had failed in this trying time. 

She watched the Indian riding rapidly away as if he were in hot haste. Once the suspicion crossed her mind that perhaps he had lamed her horseon purpose, and left her here just to get rid of her. Perhaps this wasthe home of some dreadful person who would return soon and do her harm. 

She turned quickly, with alarm in her heart, to see what manner of placeshe was in, for she had been too excited at first over the prospect ofbeing left to notice it much, save to be surprised that there werechairs, a fireplace, and a look of comparative comfort. Now she lookedabout to find out if possible just what sort of a person the owner mightbe, and glancing at the table near the fireplace the first object hereye fell upon was an open book, and the words that caught her visionwere: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abideunder the shadow of the Almighty!"

With a start she turned the book over and found it was a Bible, bound inplain, strong covers, with large, clear print, and it lay open as if theowner had been reading it but a short time before and had been calledsuddenly away. 

With a sigh of relief she sank down in the big chair by the fire and letthe excited tears have their way. Somehow her fear all vanished withthat sentence. The owner of the house could not be very bad when he kepthis Bible about and open to that psalm, her psalm, her missionary'spsalm! And there was assurance in the very words themselves, as if theyhad been sent to remind her of her new trust in an Unseen Power. If shewas making the Most High her dwelling place continually, surely she wasunder His protection continually, and had no need to be afraid anywhere, for she was abiding in Him. The thought gave her a strange new sense ofsweetness and safety. 

After a moment she sat up wiping away the tears and began to lookaround. Perhaps this was the home of some friend of her missionary. Shefelt comforted about staying here now. She lifted her eyes to the wallabove the mantel and lo, there smiled the face of her dear friend, themother, who had just gone home to heaven, and beneath it--as if thatwere not enough to bring a throb of understanding and joy to herheart--beneath it hung her own little jewelled riding whip which she hadleft on the desert a year ago and forgotten. 

Suddenly, with a cry of joy, she rose and clasped her hands over herheart, relief and happiness in every line of her face. 

"It is his home! I have come to his own house!" she cried and lookedabout her with the joy of discovery. This then was where he lived--therewere his books, here his chair where he sat and rested or studied--hishands had left the Bible open at her psalm, his psalm--_their_ psalm!There was his couch over behind the screen, and at the other end thetiny table and the dishes in the closet! Everything was in place, andcareful neatness reigned, albeit an air of manlike uncertainty aboutsome things. 

She went from one end to the other of the big room and back again, studying every detail, revelling in the thought that now, whatever cameto her, she might take back with her a picture of himself in his ownquiet room when his work was laid aside for a little, and when, if everhe had time and allowed himself, he perhaps thought of her. 

Time flew on winged feet. With the dear face of her old friend smilingdown upon her and that psalm open beside her on the table, she neverthought of fear. And presently she remembered she was hungry, and wentforaging in the cupboard for something to eat. She found plenty ofsupplies, and after she had satisfied her hunger sat down in the greatchair by the fire and looked about her in contentment. With the peace ofthe room, his room, upon her, and the sweet old face from the picturelooking down in benediction as if in welcome, she felt happier thansince her father had died. 

The quiet of the desert afternoon brooded outside, the fire burnedsoftly lower and lower at her side, the sun bent down to the west, andlong rays stole through the window and across at her feet, but thegolden head was drooping and the long-lashed eyes were closed. She wasasleep in his chair, and the dying firelight played over her face. 

Then, quietly, without any warning, the door opened and a man walkedinto the room!

XV

THE WAY OF THE CROSS

The missionary had been a far journey to an isolated tribe of Indiansoutside his own reservation. It was his first visit to them since thejourney he had taken with his colleague, and of which he had told Hazelduring their companionship in the desert. He had thought to go sooner, but matters in his own extended parish, and his trip East, had united toprevent him. 

They had lain upon his heart, these lonely, isolated people of anotherage, living amid the past in their ancient houses high up on the cliffs;a little handful of lonely, primitive children, existing afar; knowingnothing of God and little of man; with their strange, simple ways, andtheir weird appearance. They had come to him in visions as he prayed, and always with a weight upon his soul as of a message undelivered. 

He had taken his first opportunity after his return from the East to goto them; but it had not been as soon as he had hoped. Matters inconnection with the new church had demanded his attention, and then whenthey were arranged satisfactorily one of his flock was smitten with alingering illness, and so hung upon his friendship and companionshipthat he could not with a clear conscience go far away. But at last allhindrances subsided and he went forth on his mission. 

The Indians had received him gladly, noting his approach from afar andcoming down the steep way to meet him, putting their rude best at hisdisposal, and opening their hearts to him. No white man had visited themsince his last coming with his friend, save a trader who had lost hisway, and who knew little about the God of whom the missionary hadspoken, or the Book of Heaven; at least he had not seemed to understand. Of these things he was as ignorant, perhaps, as they. 

The missionary entered into the strange family life of the tribe whoinhabited the vast, many-roomed palace of rock carved high at the top ofthe cliff. He laughed with them, ate with them, slept with them, and inevery way gained their full confidence. He played with their littlechildren, teaching them many new games and amusing tricks, and praisingthe quick wits of the little ones; while their elders stood about, thestolid look of their dusky faces relaxed into smiles of deep interestand admiration. 

And then at night he told them of the God who set the stars above them;who made the earth and them, and loved them; and of Jesus, His only Son, who came to die for them and who would not only be their Saviour, buttheir loving companion by day and by night; unseen, but always at hand, caring for each one of His children individually, knowing their joys andtheir sorrows. Gradually he made them understand that he was theservant--the messenger--of this Christ, and had come there for theexpress purpose of helping them to know their unseen Friend. Around thecamp-fire, under the starry dome, or on the sunny plain, whenever hetaught them they listened, their faces losing the wild, half-animal lookof the uncivilized, and taking on the hidden longing that all mortalshave in common. He saw the humanity in them looking wistfully throughtheir great eyes, and gave himself to teach them. 

Sometimes as he talked he would lift his face to the sky, and close hiseyes; and they would listen with awe as he spoke to his Father inheaven. They watched him at first and looked up as if they halfexpected to see the Unseen World open before their wondering gaze; butgradually the spirit of devotion claimed them, and they closed theireyes with him, and who shall say if the savage prayers within theirbreasts were not more acceptable to the Father than many a wordypetition put up in the temples of civilization?

Seven days and nights he abode with them, and they fain would haveclaimed him for their own, and begged him to give up all other placesand live there always. They would give him of their best. He would notneed to work, for they would give him his portion, and make him a homeas he should direct them. In short, they would enshrine him in theirhearts as a kind of under-god, representing to their childish minds thetrue and Only One, the knowledge of whom he had brought to them. 

But he told them of his work, of why he must go back to it, and sadlythey prepared to bid him good-bye with many an invitation for return. Ingoing down the cliff, where he had gone with them many a time before, heturned to wave another farewell to a little child who had been hisspecial pet, and turning, slipped, and wrenched his ankle so badly thathe could not move on. 

They carried him up to their home again, half sorrowful, but whollytriumphant. He was theirs for a little longer; and there were morestories he could tell. The Book of Heaven was a large one, and theywanted to hear it all. They spread his couch of their best, and weariedthemselves to supply his necessity with all that their ignoranceimagined he needed, and then they sat at his feet and listened. Thesprain was a troublesome one and painful, and it yielded to treatmentbut slowly; meanwhile the messenger arrived with the telegram from theEast. 

They gathered about it, that sheet of yellow paper with its mysteriousscratches upon it, which told such volumes to their friend, but gave nosemblance to sign language of anything in heaven above or earth beneath. They looked with awe upon their friend as they saw the anguish in hiscountenance. His mother was dead! This man who had loved her, and hadleft her to bring them news of salvation, was suffering. It was one morebond between them, one more tie of common humanity. And yet he couldlook up and smile, and still speak to the invisible Father! They saw hisface as it were the face of an angel with the light of the comfort ofChrist upon it; and when he read to them and tried to make themunderstand the majestic words: "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" they sat and looked afar off, and thought of theones that they had lost. This man said they would all live again. Hismother would live; the chief they had lost last year, the bravest andyoungest chief of all their tribe, he would live too; their littlechildren would live; all they had lost would live again. 

So, when he would most have wished to be alone with his God and hissorrow, he must needs lay aside his own bitter grief, and bring thesechildish people consolation for their griefs, and in doing so thecomfort came to him also. For somehow, looking into their longing faces, and seeing their utter need, and how eagerly they hung upon his words, he came to feel the presence of the Comforter standing by his side inthe dark cave shadows, whispering to his heart sweet words that he longhad known but had not fully comprehended because his need for them hadnever come before. Somehow time and things of earth receded, and onlyheaven and immortal souls mattered. He was lifted above his own loss andinto the joy of the inheritance of the servant of the Lord. 

But the time had come, all too soon for his hosts, when he was able togo on his way; and most anxious he was to be started, longing forfurther news of the dear one who was gone from him. They followed him insorrowful procession far into the plain to see him on his way, and thenreturned to their mesa and their cliff home to talk of it all andwonder. 

Alone upon the desert at last, the three great mesas like fingers of agiant hand stretching cloudily behind him; the purpling mountains in thedistance; the sunlight shining vividly down over all the bright sands;the full sense of his loss came at last upon him, and his spirit wasbowed with the weight of it. The vision of the Mount was passed, and thevalley of the shadow of life was upon him. It came to him what it wouldbe to have no more of his mother's letters to cheer his loneliness; nothought of her at home thinking of him; no looking forward to anotherhome-coming. 

As he rode he saw none of the changing landscape by the way, but onlythe Granville orchard with its showering pink and white, and his motherlying happily beside him on the strawberry bank picking the sweet vividberries, and smiling back to him as if she had been a girl. He was glad, glad he had that memory of her. And she had seemed so well, so verywell. He had been thinking that perhaps when there was hope of buildinga little addition to his shack and making a possible place of comfortfor her, that he might venture to propose that she come out to him andstay. It was a wish that had been growing, growing in his lonely heartsince that visit home when it seemed as if he could not tear himselfaway from her and go back; and yet knew that he could not stay--wouldnot want to stay, because of his beloved work. And now it was overforever, his dream! She would never come to cheer his home, and he wouldalways have to live a lonely life--for he knew in his heart there wasonly one girl in the whole world he would want to ask to come, and herhe might not, must not ask. 

As endless and as desolate as his desert his future lay stretched outbefore his mind. For the time his beloved work and the joy of servicewas sunk out of sight, and he saw only himself, alone, forsaken of alllove, walking his sorrowful way apart; and there surged over him a greatand deadly weakness as of a spirit in despair. 

In this mind he lay down to rest in the shadow of a great rock about thenoon hour, too weary in spirit and exhausted in body to go furtherwithout a sleep. The faithful Billy dozed and munched his portion notfar away; and high overhead a great eagle soared high and far, adding tothe wide desolateness of the scene. Here he was alone at last for thefirst time with his grief, and for a while it had its way, and he facedit; entering into his Gethsemane with bowed spirit and seeing nothingbut blackness all about him. It was so, worn with the anguish of hisspirit, that he fell asleep. 

While he slept there came to him peace; a dream of his mother, smiling, well, and walking with a light free step as he remembered her when hewas a little boy; and by her side the girl he loved. How strange, andwonderful, that these two should come to him and bring him rest! Andthen, as he lay still dreaming, they smiled at him and passed on, handin hand, the girl turning and waving her hand as if she meant to return;and presently they passed beyond his sight. Then One stood by him, somewhere within the shelter of the rock under which he lay, and spoke;and the Voice thrilled his soul as it had never been thrilled in lifebefore:

 "Lo, _I_ am with you _alway_, even unto the end of the world. "

The Peace of that Invisible Presence descended upon him in full measure, and when he awoke he found himself repeating: "The peace which passethunderstanding!" and realizing that for the first time he knew what thewords meant. 

Some time he lay quietly like a child who had been comforted and caredfor, wondering at the burden which had been lifted, glorying in thepeace that had come in its place; rejoicing in the Presence that he feltwould be with him always, and make it possible for him to bear theloneliness. 

At last he turned his head to see if Billy were far away, and wasstartled to see the shadow of the rock, under which he lay, spread outupon the sand before him, the semblance of a perfect mighty cross. Forso the jutting uneven arms of the rock and the position of the sunarranged the shadows before him. "The shadow of a great rock in a wearyland. " The words came to his memory, and it seemed to be his mother'svoice repeating them as she used to do on Sabbath evenings when they sattogether in the twilight before his bedtime. A weary land! It _was_ aweary land now, and his soul had been parched with the heat andloneliness. He had needed the rock as he had never needed it before, andthe Rock, Christ Jesus, had become a rest and a peace to his soul. Butthere it lay spread out upon the sand beside him, and it was the way ofthe cross; the Christ way was always the way of the cross. But what wasthe song they sang at that great meeting he attended in New York? "Theway of the cross leads home. " Ah, that was it. Some day it would leadhim home, but now it was the way of the cross and he must take it withcourage, and always with that unseen but close Companion who hadpromised to be with him even to the end of the world. 

Well, he would rise up at once, strong in that blessed companionship. Cheerfully he made his preparations for starting, and now he turnedBilly's head a trifle to the south, for he decided to stop over nightwith his colleague. 

When his grief and loneliness were fresh upon him it had seemed that hecould not bear this visit. But since peace had come to his soul hechanged his course to take in the other mission, which was really on hisway, only that he had purposely avoided it. 

They made him welcome, those two who had made a little bit of earthlyparadise out of their desert shack; and they compelled him to stay withthem and rest three days, for he was more worn with the journey and hisrecent pain and sorrow than he realized. They comforted him with theirloving sympathy and gladdened his soul with the sight of their own joy, albeit it gave him a feeling of being set apart from them. He started inthe early dawn of the day when the morning star was yet visible, and ashe rode through the beryl air of the dawning hour he was uplifted fromhis sadness by a sense of the near presence of Christ. 

He took his way slowly, purposely turning aside three times from thetrail to call at the hogans of some of his parishioners; for he dreadedthe home-coming as one dreads a blow that is inevitable. His mother'spicture awaited him in his own room, smiling down upon his possessionswith that dear look upon her face, and to look at it for the first timeknowing that she was gone from earth forever was an experience fromwhich he shrank inexpressibly. Thus he gave himself more time, knowingthat it was better to go calmly, turning his mind back to his work, anddoing what she would have liked him to do. 

He camped that night under the sheltered ledge where he and Hazel hadbeen, and as he lay down to sleep he repeated the psalm they had readtogether that night, and felt a sense of the comfort of abiding underthe shadow of the Almighty. 

In visions of the night he saw the girl's face once more, and she smiledupon him with that glad welcoming look, as though she had come to bewith him always. She did not say anything in the dream, but just put outher hands to him with a motion of surrender. 

The vision faded as he opened his eyes, yet so real had it been that itremained with him and thrilled him with the wonder of her look all day. He began to ponder whether he had been right in persistently putting herout of his life as he had done. Bits of her own sentences came to himwith new meaning and he wondered after all if he had not been a fool. Perhaps he might have won her. Perhaps God had really sent her to him tobe his life companion, and he had been too blind to understand. 

He put the idea from him many times with a sigh as he mended the fireand prepared his simple meal, yet always her face lingered sweetly inhis thoughts, like balm upon his saddened spirit. 

Billy was headed towards home that morning, and seemed eager to get on. He had not understood his master these sad days. Something had come overhis spirits. The little horse neighed cheerfully and started on his waywith willing gait. However lonely the master might be, home was good, with one's own stall and manger; and who might tell but somepresentiment told Billy that the princess was awaiting them?

The missionary endeavoured to keep his thoughts upon his work and plansfor the immediate future, but try as he would the face of the girl keptsmiling in between; and all the beauties of the way combined to bringback the ride he had taken with her; until finally he let his fancydwell upon her with pleasant thoughts of how it would be if she werehis, and waiting for him at the end of his journey; or better still, riding beside him at this moment, bearing him sweet converse on the way. 

The little shack stood silent, familiar, in the setting sunlight, as herode up to the door, and gravely arranged for Billy's comfort, then withhis upward look for comfort he went towards his lonely home and openingthe door stood wondering upon the threshold!

XVI

THE LETTER

It was only an instant before she opened her eyes, for that subconsciousstate, that warns even in sleep of things that are going on outside theworld of slumber, told her there was another soul present. 

She awakened suddenly and looked up at him, the rosiness of sleep uponher cheeks and the dewiness of it upon her eyelids. She looked mostadorable with the long red slant of sunset from the open door at herfeet and the wonder of his coming in her face. Their eyes met, and toldthe story, before brain had time to give warning of danger and need ofself-control. 

"Oh, my darling!" the man said and took a step towards her, his armsoutstretched as if he would clasp her, yet daring hardly to believe thatit was really herself in the flesh. 

"My darling! Have you really come to me?" He breathed the question asthough its answer meant life or death to him. 

She arose and stood before him, trembling with joy, abashed now thatshe was in his presence, in his home, unbidden. Her tongue seemed tied. She had no word with which to explain. But because he saw the love inher eyes and because his own need of her was great, he became bolder, and coming closer he began to tell her earnestly how he had longed andprayed that God would make a way for him to find her again; how he hadfancied her here in this room, his own dear companion--his wife!

He breathed the word tenderly, reverently and she felt the blessing andthe wonder of the love of this great simple-hearted man. 

Then because he saw his answer in her eyes, he came near and took herreverently in his arms, laid his lips upon hers, and thus they stood fora moment together, knowing that after all the sorrow, the longing, theseparation, each had come into his own. 

It was some time before Hazel could get opportunity to explain how shecame all unknowingly to be in his house, and even then he could notunderstand what joyful circumstance had set her face fortward anddropped her at his door. So she had to go back to the letter, the letterwhich was the cause of it all, and yet for the moment had beenforgotten. She brought it forth now, and his face, all tender with thejoy of her presence, grew almost glorified when he knew that it was shewho had been his mother's tender nurse and beloved friend through thelast days of her life. 

With clasped hands they talked together of his mother. Hazel told himall: how she had come upon her that summer's day, and her heart hadyearned to know her for his sake; and how she had gone back again, andyet again; all the story of her own struggles for a better life. Whenshe told of her cooking lessons he kissed the little white hands heheld, and when she spoke of her hospital work he touched his lips toeyes and brow in reverent worshipfulness. 

"And you did all that because----?" he asked and looked deep into hereyes, demanding hungrily his answer. 

"Because I wanted to be worthy of your love!" she breathed softly, hereyes down-drooped, her face rosy with her confession. 

"Oh, my darling!" he said, and clasped her close once more. Almost theletter itself was forgotten, until it slipped softly to the floor andcalled attention to itself. There was really after all no need for theletter. It had done its intended work without being read. But they readit together, his arm about her shoulders, and their heads close, eachfeeling the need of the comforting love of the other because of thebereavement each had suffered. 

And thus they read:

 "MY DEAR SON:

 "I am writing this letter in what I believe to be the last few days of my life. Long ago I made our dear doctor tell me just what would be the signs that preceded the probable culmination of my disease. He knew I would be happier so, for I had some things I wished to accomplish before I went away. I did not tell you, dear son, because I knew it could but distress you and turn your thoughts away from the work to which you belong. I knew when you came home to me for that dear last visit that I had only a little while longer left here, and I need not tell you what those blessed days of your stay were to me. You know without my telling. You perhaps will blame yourself that you did not see how near the end it was and stay beside me; but John, beloved, I would not have been happy to have had it so. It would have brought before you with intensity the parting side of death, and this I wished to avoid. I want you to think of me as gone to be with Jesus and with your dear father. Besides, I wanted the pleasure of giving you back again to your work before I went away. 

 "It was because I knew the end was near that I dared do a lot of things that I would have been careful about otherwise. It was in the strength of the happiness of your presence that I forced myself to walk again that you might remember your mother once more on her feet. Remember now when you are reading this I shall be walking the golden streets with as strong and free a gait as you walk your desert, dear. So don't regret anything of the good time we had, nor wish you had stayed longer. It was perfect, and the good times are not over for us. We shall have them again on the other side some day when there are no more partings forever. 

 "But there is just one thing that has troubled me ever since you first went away, and that is that you are alone. God knew it was not good for man to be alone, and He has a helpmeet for my boy somewhere in the world, I am sure. I would be glad if I might go knowing that you had found her and that she loved you as I loved your father when I married him. I have never talked much about these things to you because I do not think mothers should try to influence their children to marry until God sends the right one, and then it is not the mother who should be the judge, of course. But once I spoke to you in a letter. You remember? It was after I had met a sweet girl whose life seemed so fitted to belong to yours. You opened your heart to me then and told me you had found the one you loved and would never love another--but she was not for you. My heart ached for you, laddie, and I prayed much for you then, for it was a sore trial to come to my boy away out there alone with his trouble. I had much ado not to hate that girl to whom you had given your love, and not to fancy her a most disagreeable creature with airs, and no sense, not to recognize the man in my son, and not to know his beautiful soul and the worth of his love. But then I thought perhaps she couldn't help it, poor child, that she didn't know enough to appreciate you; and likely it was God's good leading that kept you from her. But I have kept hoping that some time He would bring you to love another who was more worthy than she could have been. 

 "Dear, you have never said anything more about that girl, and I hope you have forgotten her, though sometimes when you were at home I noticed that deep, far-away look in your eyes, and a sadness about your lips that made me tremble lest her memory was just as bright as ever. I have wanted you to know the sweet girl Hazel Radcliffe who has been my dear friend and almost daughter--for no daughter could have been dearer than she has been to me, and I believe she loves me too as I love her. If you had been nearer I would have tried to bring you two together, at least for once, that you might judge for yourselves; but I found out that she was shy as a bird about meeting any one--though she has hosts of young men friends in her New York home--and that she would have run away if you had come. Besides, I could not have given you any reason but the truth for sending for you, and I knew God would bring you two together if it was His will. But I could not go happy from this earth without doing something towards helping you just to see her once, and so I have asked her to give you this letter with her own hand, if possible, and she has promised to do so. You will come home when I am gone and she will have to see you, and when you look on her sweet face if you do not feel as your mother does about her, it is all right, dear son; only I wanted you just to see her once because I love her so much, and because I love you. If you could forget the other and love this one it seems as though I should be glad even in heaven, but if you do not feel that way when you see her, John, don't mind my writing this letter, for it pleased me much to play this little trick upon you before I left; and the dear girl must never know--unless indeed you love her--and then I do not care--for I know she will forgive me for writing this silly letter, and love me just the same. 

 "Dear boy, just as we never liked to say good-bye when you went away to college, but only 'Au revoir, ' so there won't be any good-bye now, only I love you. 

 "YOUR MOTHER. "

Hazel was weeping softly when they finished the letter, and there weretears in the eyes of the son, though they were glorified by the smilethat shone upon the girl as he folded the letter and said:

"Wasn't that a mother for a fellow to have? And could I do anything elsethan give myself when she gave all she had? And to think she picked outthe very one for me that I loved of all the world, and sent her out tome because I was too set in my way to come back after her. It is just asif my mother sent you down as a gift from heaven to me, dear!" andtheir lips met once more in deep love and understanding. 

The sun was almost setting now, and suddenly the two became aware thatnight was coming on. The Indian would be returning and they must planwhat to do. 

Brownleigh rose and went to the door to see if the Indian were in sight. He was thinking hard and fast. Then he came back and stood before thegirl. 

"Dear!" he said, and the tone of his voice brought the quick colour toher cheeks; it was so wonderful, so disconcerting to be looked at andspoken to in that way. She caught her breath and wondered if it were nota dream after all. "Dear, " another of those deep, searching looks, "thisis a big, primitive country and we do things in a most summary way outhere sometimes. You must tell me if I go too fast; but could--_would_you--do you think you love me enough to marry me at once--to-night?"

"Oh!" she breathed, lifting her happy eyes. "It would be beautiful tonever have to leave you again--but--you hardly know me. I am not fitted, you know. You are a great, wonderful missionary, and I--I am only afoolish girl who has fallen in love with you and can't ever be happyagain without you. "

She buried her face in the arm of the chair and cried happy, shamedtears, and he gathered her up in his arms and comforted her, his faceshining with a glorified expression. 

"Dear, " he said when he could speak again, "dear, don't you know that isall I want? And don't ever talk that way again about me. I am no saint, as you'll very well find out, but I'll promise to love and cherish youas long as we both shall live. Will you marry me to-night?"

There was a silence in the little room broken only by the low cracklingof the dying fire. 

She lifted shy glad eyes to his, and then came and laid her two hands inhis. 

"If you are quite sure you want me, " she breathed softly. 

The rapture of his face and the tenderness of his arms assured her onthat point. 

"There is just one great regret I have, " said the young man, lifting hiseyes towards his mother's picture. "If she only could have known it wasyou that I loved. Why didn't I tell her your name? But then---- Why, mydear, I didn't know your name. Do you realize that? I haven't known yourname until now. "

"I certainly did realize it, " said Hazel with rosy cheeks. "It used tohurt dreadfully sometimes to think that even if you wanted to find meyou wouldn't know how to go about it. "

"You dear! Did you care so much?" His voice was deep and tender and hiseyes were upon her. 

"So much!" she breathed softly. 

But the splash of red light on the floor at their feet warned them ofthe lateness of the hour and they turned to the immediate business ofthe moment. 

"It is wonderful that things are just as they are to-night, " saidBrownleigh in his full, joyous tones. "It certainly seems providential. Bishop Vail, my father's old college chum, has been travelling throughthe West on missionary work for his church, and he is now at thestopping place where you spent last night. He leaves on the midnighttrain to-night, but we can get there long before that time, and he willmarry us. There is no one I would rather have had, though the choiceshould have been yours. Are you going to mind very much being married inthis brief and primitive manner?"

"If I minded those things I should not be worthy of your love, " saidHazel softly. "No, I don't mind in the least. Only I've really nothingalong to get married in--nothing suitable for a wedding gown. You won'tbe able to remember me in bridal attire--and there won't be even AmeliaEllen for bridesmaid. " She smiled at him mischievously. 

"You darling!" he said laying his lips upon hers again. "You need nobridal attire to make you the sweetest bride that ever came to Arizona, and I shall always remember you as you are now, as the most beautifulsight my eyes ever saw. If there was time to get word to some of mycolleagues off at their stations we should have a wedding reception thatwould outrival your New York affairs so far as enthusiasm and genuinehearty good will is concerned, but they are all from forty to a hundredmiles away from here and it will be impossible. Are you sure you are nottoo tired to ride back to the stopping place to-night?" He looked at heranxiously. "We will hitch Billy to the wagon, and the seat has goodsprings. I will put in plenty of cushions and you can rest on the way, and we will not attempt to come back to-night. It would be too much foryou. "

She began to protest but he went on:

"No, dear, I don't mean we'll stay in that little hole where you spentlast night. That would be awful! But what would you say to camping inthe same spot where we had our last talk? I have been there many timessince and often spend the night there because of its sweet associationwith you. It is not far, you know, from the railroad--a matter of a fewminutes' ride--and there is good water. We can carry my little tent andtrappings, and then take as much of a wedding trip afterwards as youfeel you have strength for before we return, though we shall have therest of our lives to make one dear long wedding trip of, I hope. Willthat plan suit you?"

"Oh, it will be beautiful, " said Hazel with shining eyes. 

"Very well, then. I will get everything ready for our start and you mustrest until I call you. " With that he stooped and before she realizedwhat he was doing gently lifted her from her feet and laid her down uponhis couch over in the corner, spreading a many-coloured Indian blanketover her. Then he deftly stirred up the fire, filled up the kettle, swung it back over the blaze, and with a smile went out to prepare Billyand the wagon. 

Hazel lay there looking about her new home with happy eyes, noting eachlittle touch of refinement and beauty that showed the character of theman who had lived his life alone there for three long years, andwondering if it were really herself, the lonely little struggling nursewith the bitter ache in her heart, who was feeling so happy hereto-day--Hazel Radcliffe, the former New York society girl, rejoicingecstatically because she was going to marry a poor home missionary andlive in a shanty! How her friends would laugh and sneer, and how AuntMaria would lift her hands in horror and say the family was disgraced!But it did not matter about Aunt Maria. Poor Aunt Maria! She had neverapproved of anything that Hazel wanted to do all her life. As for herbrother--and here her face took on a shade of sadness--her brother wasof another world than hers and always had been. People said he was likehis dead mother. Perhaps the grand man of the desert could help herbrother to better things. Perhaps he would come out here to visit themand catch a vision of another kind of life and take a longing for it asshe had done. He could not fail at least to see the greatness of the manshe had chosen. 

There was great comfort to her in this hour to remember that her fatherhad been interested in her missionary, and had expressed a hope thatshe might meet him again some day. She thought her father would havebeen pleased at the choice she had made, for he had surely seen thevision of what was really worth while in life before he died. 

Suddenly her eyes turned to the little square table over by thecupboard. What if she should set it?

She sprang up and suited the action to the thought. 

Almost as a child might handle her first pewter set Hazel took thedishes from the shelves and arranged them on the table. They were prettychina dishes, with a fine old sprigged pattern of delicate flowers. Sherecognized them as belonging to his mother's set, and handled themreverently. It almost seemed as if that mother's presence was with herin the room as she prepared the table for her first meal with thebeloved son. 

She found a large white towel in the cupboard drawer that she spread onthe rough little table, and set the delicate dishes upon it: two plates, two cups and saucers, knives and forks--two of everything! How itthrilled her to think that in a little while she would belong here inthis dear house, a part of it, and that they two would have a right tosit together at this table through the years. There might come hardshipsand disappointments--of course there would. She was no fool! Life wasfull of disappointments for everybody, as well as of beautifulsurprises! But come what would she knew by the thrill in her heart thatshe would never be sorry for this day in which she had promised tobecome the wife of the man of the desert, and she would always cherishthe memory of this her first setting of the little table, and let itmake all future settings of that table a holy ordinance. 

She found a can of soup in the cupboard, and made it hot in a smallsaucepan on the fire, and set forth on the table crackers and cheese, aglass of jelly, a small bottle of stuffed olives and some little cakesshe had brought with her in her suit-case. She had thought she mightneed something of the sort when she landed in Arizona, for there was notelling but she might have to ride across the desert to find hermissionary; and sure enough that had been the case. 

It looked very cozy when Brownleigh came in to say that the wagon wasready and he thought he saw the Indian in the dusk coming across theplain, but he stopped short without speech, for here before him was thepicture which his mind and heart had painted for him many a time: thisgirl, the one girl in all the earth for him, kneeling beside his hearthand dishing up the steaming soup into the hot dishes, the firelightplaying on her sweet face and golden hair, and every line and motion ofher graceful body calling for his adoration! So he stood for one longminute and feasted his hungry eyes upon the sight, until she turned andsaw his heart in his eyes, and her own face grew rosy with the joy andthe meaning of it all. 

And so they sat down to their first meal in the little house together, and then having sent the Indian back to the fort with a message, theytook their way forth in the starlight together to begin their weddingjourney. 

XVII

DEDICATION

Billy made good time in spite of the fact that he had been out all dayon parishional work, but he knew who he was hauling, and seemed to takedeep satisfaction in having Hazel back again, for now and again he wouldturn back towards the wagon when they stopped for water and whinnyhappily. 

They reached the stopping place about nine o'clock, and the news thatthe missionary was going to be married spread like wildfire among themen and out to the neighbouring shacks. In no time a small crowd hadcollected about the place, peering out of the starlit darkness. 

Hazel retired to the forlorn little chamber where she had spent thenight before and rummaged in her trunk for bridal apparel. In a fewminutes she emerged into the long dining-room where the table had beenhastily cleared and moved aside, and upon which the boarders were nowseated in long rows, watching the proceedings curiously. 

She was dressed in a simple white muslin, touched here and there withexquisite hand embroidery and tiny cobwebby edges of real lace. Themissionary caught his breath as he saw her come out to him, and therough faces of the men softened as they watched her. 

The white-haired bishop arose to meet her and welcomed her in a fatherlyway he had, and the woman who kept the stopping place came following inHazel's wake, hastily wiping her hands on her apron, and casting itbehind her as she entered. She had been preparing an impromptu supperout of any materials that happened to be at hand, but she could not missthe ceremony if the coffee did burn. Weddings did not come her way everyday. 

In the doorway, his stolid face shining in the glare of many candles, stood the Indian from the fort. He had followed silently behind thecouple to witness the proceedings, well knowing he would be forgiven byhis mistress at the fort when he told his news. The missionary was wellbeloved--and the missionary was going to be married!

What would the four hundred of her own select New York circle have saidcould they have seen Hazel Radcliffe standing serene, in her simplegown, with her undecked golden hair, in the midst of that motleycompany of men, with only three curious slatternly women in thebackground to keep her company, giving herself away to a man who haddedicated his life to work in the desert? But Hazel's happy heart wasserenely unconscious of the incongruity of her surroundings, and sheanswered with a clear ring to her voice as the bishop asked her thequestions: "I will. " She was coming gladly to her new home. 

It was her own ring, the ring she had given him, that John Brownleighput upon her hand in token of his loyalty and love for her, the ringthat for a whole year had lain next his own heart and comforted itsloneliness because she had given it, and now he gave it back because shehad given him herself. 

Graciously she placed her small white hand in the rough awkward ones ofthe men who came to offer her congratulations, half stumbling over theirown feet in their awe and wonder at her beauty. It was to them as if anangel from heaven had suddenly dropped down and condescended to walktheir daily path in sight of them all. 

Cheerfully she swallowed the stale cake and muddy coffee that theslatternly landlady produced, and afterwards, as she was being helpedto get back into her riding dress, bestowed upon her a little lilac woolfrock from her trunk that the woman admired greatly. From that momentthe landlady of the stopping place was a new creature. Missions andmissionaries had been nothing to her through the years, but she believedin them forever after, and donned her new lilac gown in token of herfaith in Christianity. Thus Hazel won her first convert, who afterwardsproved her fidelity in time of great trial, and showed that even a lilacgown may be an instrument of good. 

Out into the starlight together again they rode, with the blessing ofthe bishop upon them, and the cheers of the men still sounding in theirears. 

"I wish mother could have known, " said the bridegroom as he drew hisbride close within his arm and looked down upon her nestling by hisside. 

"Oh, I think she does!" said Hazel as she dropped a thankful, weary headagainst his shoulder. Then the missionary stooped and gave his wife along, tender kiss, and raising his head and lifting his eyes to thestarlit sky he said reverently:

"Oh, my Father, I thank Thee for this wonderful gift. Make me worthy ofher. Help her never to regret that she has come to me. "

Hazel crept her hand into his free one, and laid her lips upon hisfingers, and prayed all quietly by herself for gladness. So they rodeout to their camp beneath God's sky. 

Three days later an Indian on the way to the fort turned aside with amessage for Hazel--a telegram. It read:

 "Arrived safe. Married Burley to once so I could see to him. Do come home right away. Burley says come and live with us. Answer right away. I can't enjoy my new home worrying about you. 

 "Yours respectful, "AMELIA ELLEN STOUT BURLEY. "

With laughter and tears Hazel read the telegram whose price must havecost the frugal New England conscience a twinge, and after a moment'sthought wrote an answer to send back by the messenger. 

 "DEAR AMELIA ELLEN: Love and congratulations for you both. I was married to John Brownleigh the night you left. Come out and see us when your husband gets well, and perhaps we'll visit you when we come East. I am very happy. 

 "HAZEL RADCLIFFE BROWNLEIGH. "

When good Amelia Ellen read that telegram she wiped her spectacles asecond time and read it over to see that she had made no mistake, andthen she set her toil-worn hands upon her hips and surveyed the pronebut happy Burley in dazed astonishment, ejaculating:

"Fer the land sake! Now did you ever? Fer the land! Was that what shewas up to all the time? I thought she was wonderful set to go, andwonderful set to stay, but I never sensed what was up. Ef I'd 'a'knowed, I suppose I'd 'a' stayed another day. Why didn't she tell me, Iwonder! Well, fer the land sake!"

And Burley murmured contentedly:

"Wal, I'm mighty glad you never knowed, Amelia Ellen!"

The Novels of Grace Livingston Hill

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Many thousands of readers have found inspiration and happiness inreading the novels of Grace Livingston Hill. In her charming romancesthere is a sympathetic buoyant spirit that conquers discouragement, which teaches that true love and happiness will come out of the worsttrial. 

 Amorelle The Ransom Patch of Blue Kerry The Chance of a Lifetime Silver Wings Ladybird The White Lady The Gold Shoe Found Treasure Blue Ruin The Prodigal Girl Duskin Crimson Roses Out of the Storm The Honor Girl Job's Niece A New Name Ariel Custer The Best Man Re-Creations The Voice in the Wilderness The Beloved Stranger Happiness Hill The Challengers The City of Fire Cloudy Jewel Dawn of the Morning The Enchanted Barn Exit Betty The Finding of Jasper Holt The Girl from Montana Lo, Michael The Man of the Desert Marcia Schuyler Phoebe Deane The Red Signal Tomorrow About This Time The Tryst The Witness Not Under the Law The White Flower

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Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired. 

Page 34, "These" changed to "There". (There were neighbors)

Page 43, word "It" presumed as ink was unclear. (It seemed to)

Page 45, "nd" changed to "and". (and the pony's)

Page 147, "The" changed to "the". (the agent is)

Page 224, word "to" added to text. (what to do with)

Page 227, "th" changed to "the". (the inn tells)