on, the
fallen needles of the pines clothed the slopes with orange, and a mist
of milky blue lay in the canyon. Very beautiful were those days, when no
breath of wind stirred the warm perfume, and the music of the rapids
echoed from sun-warmed precipice and glowing woodlands up to the
gorgeous cobalt of the sky. Cured of all sick fancies, I was content to
rest.

Jesse had arranged with lawyers for the probate of Lionel's will, and
settlement of his debts, which would leave me nothing. As far as Jesse
knew, I was penniless, and to this day I have never dared acknowledge
that, secured from the extravagance of my late husband, I have capital
bringing in some seven thousand, five hundred dollars a year. Jesse
supposed me to be destitute, and when I spoke of returning to my work in
Europe, offered to raise the money for my passage. Knowing his ranch to
be mortgaged already to its full value, I wondered what limit there was
to this poor man's valor. Yes, I would accept, assuring him of swift
repayment, yet dared not tell him the wages offered me at Covent Garden.
It seemed indecent that a woman's voice should be valued at more per
week than his heroic earnings for a year.

I sang to him, simple emotional music: Orfeo's lament, the finale of
_Il Trovatore_, the angel song from Chopin's _Marche Funebre_.

There was the last of my poor little test which had proved in him a
chivalry, a generosity, a moral valor, a physical courage, a sense of
beauty, a native humor, which made me very humble. All I had foolishly
imagined in poor Lionel, all that a woman hopes for in a man, was here
beyond the accidents of rank or caste. How pitiful seemed the standards
of value which rated Lionel a gentleman, and this man common! Jesse is
something by nature which gentlemen try to imitate with their culture.
Should I go back to imitations? I had outlived all that before I
realized the glory of the great wilderness, before I met Jesse and loved
him.

Could I promise to love, honor and obey? I loved him, I honored him, and
as to obeying, of course that's the way they are managed.

I wonder why women make it so important that a man should propose? It
needed no telling that Jesse and I were in love. It seemed only natural
that we should marry, and any pretense of mourning for the late Mr.
Trevor would have been distasteful.

My dear father was content with my first marriage, because--it seems so
quaint--Mr. Trevor was a sound churchman. The ol