hills before her, till I could feel their very breezes in
my face. This The Duke had never dared to do, fearing to grieve her with
pictures of what she should look upon no more. But, as The Pilot talked,
before she knew, Gwen was out again upon her beloved hills, breathing
their fresh, sunny air, filling her heart with their multitudinous
delights, till her eyes grew bright and the lines of fretting smoothed
out of her face and she forgot her pain. Then, before she could
remember, he had her down into the canyon, feasting her heart with its
airs and sights and sounds. The black, glistening rocks, tricked out
with moss and trailing vines, the great elms and low green cedars, the
oaks and shivering poplars, the clematis and columbine hanging from
the rocky nooks, and the violets and maiden-hair deep bedded in their
mosses. All this and far more he showed her with a touch so light as not
to shake the morning dew from bell or leaf or frond, and with a voice so
soft and full of music as to fill our hearts with the canyon's mingling
sounds, and, as I looked upon her face, I said to myself: "Dear old
Pilot! for this I shall always love you well." As poor Gwen listened,
the rapture of it drew the big tears down her cheeks--alas! no longer
brown, but white, and for that day at least the dull, dead weariness was
lifted from her heart.

CHAPTER XIII

THE CANYON FLOWERS

The Pilot's first visit to Gwen had been a triumph. But none knew better
than he that the fight was still to come, for deep in Gwen's heart were
thoughts whose pain made her forget all other.

"Was it God let me fall?" she asked abruptly one day, and The Pilot
knew the fight was on; but he only answered, looking fearlessly into her
eyes:

"Yes, Gwen dear."

"Why did He let me fall?" and her voice was very deliberate.

"I don't know, Gwen dear," said The Pilot steadily. "He knows."

"And does He know I shall never ride again? Does He know how long the
days are, and the nights when I can't sleep? Does He know?"

"Yes, Gwen dear," said The Pilot, and the tears were standing in his
eyes, though his voice was still steady enough.

"Are you sure He knows?" The voice was painfully intense.

"Listen to me, Gwen," began The Pilot, in great distress, but she cut
him short.

"Are you quite sure He knows? Answer me!" she cried, with her old
imperiousness.

"Yes, Gwen, He knows all about you."

"Then what do you think of Him, just because He's big and st