By a strange magic, the coming of a girl had transformed the world. He
had seen the strategic value of these hills and valleys often before. He
had not dreamed of their beauty. The mists that hung over the ragged
lines of the western horizon were no longer fogs that might conceal an
army. They were the folds of a huge veil which Nature was softly drawing
over the face of a beautiful bride. Why had he not seen this before?
The awful silence of the plains from which he had fled to books had
suddenly become God's great whispering gallery. He listened with joyous
awe and reverence.
The stars had been his guides by night to find the trail. He had merely
lifted his eyes to make the reckoning. He had never seen before the
crystal flash from their jeweled depths.
He looked into the eyes of the graceful young rider by his side and
longed to tell her of this miracle wrought in his soul. But he
hesitated. She was too dignified and self-possessed. It would be silly
when put into words.
But the world to-day was too beautiful to hurry through it. He just
couldn't.
"Let's stop on this hill and watch the sunset, Miss Sarah?" he
suggested.
"I'd love to," was the simple answer.
With a light laugh, she sprang from the saddle.
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