bright flame of the painted cup and the purple of the asters still lighted up the aisles of the pines in sheltered places.

"There are many more in August," he explained. "The frost has swept them all away."

"Is this our stream?" she asked.

"Yes, we cross it many times."

"How small it is."

"Are you tired?"

"Not at all."

He came close to her to listen to her breathing. "You must not do too much. If you find yourself out of breath stop and ride."

"I want to be cured."

He laughed. "By the way you lead up this trail I don't think you need medicine. I never finish wondering whether you are the same girl I met first——"

She flashed a glance back at him. "I'm not. I'm another person."

"That shows what three months of this climate will do."

"Climate did not do it."

"What did?"

"You did." She kept marching steadily forward, her head held very straight indeed.

"I wish you would wait a moment," he pleaded.

"I am very thirsty—I want to reach the spring."

"But, dear girl, you can't keep this up."

"Can't I? Watch me and see."

She seemed possessed of some miraculous staff, for she mounted the steep trail as lightly as a fawn. Clement was in an agony of apprehension lest she should overdo and fall fainting in the path. This ecstasy of activity was most dangerously persistent.

It was past noon when they came out of the aspens and pines into the little smooth slope of meadow which lay between the low peaks which were already crusted with snow. In the midst of the orange and purple and red of the grasses lay a deep, dark pool of water—as beautiful as her eyes, it seemed to him.

"Here is the spring," Clement called to the girl.

"I knew it," she said.

"Wait," he called again. "I must drink with you."

He hastened up and dipped a cup into the water and handed it to her.

"Now drink confusion to disease."

"Confusion!" She drank. "Oh, isn't it sweet? I never knew before how good water was. But here, drink. You are dying of thirst, too." She handed him the cup.

"I want to drink to some purpose also," he said, and there was no need of further words, but he went on, his full heart giving eloquence to his lips, "I want to pledge my life to your service—my life and all I am."

She grew a little pale. This intensity of emotion awed her as the majestic in Nature affects great souls. "I don't think you ought. I don't think I am quite worthy."

"Let me be judge of that." He spoke quickly and almost sharply. "Shall I drink?"

She had walked on while Clement was speaking, and stood leaning against the browsing horse. After a little hesitation she answered, "If you are thirsty."

The words were light, but he understood her. He drank and then came straight toward her.

She shrank from him in sudden timidity and said a little hurriedly, "Help me into the saddle. I shall need to ride back."