na's eyes came away from those mountains which
she was unremittingly watching for an answering fire and fixed
themselves upon his face in startled horror.

"Moonlight!" she gasped. "But no--no! We must not wait any more. It is
too late now. We must get down as soon as we can."

"Why, you little baby!" Johnny Byrd moved nearer to her. "What you
'fraid of, Ri-Ri? We can't help how late it is, can we?"

He put an arm about her and drew her gently close, and because she was
so tired and frightened and upset Maria Angelina could no longer resist
the tears that came blinding her eyes.

"You little baby!" said Johnny again softly, and suddenly she felt his
kiss upon her cheek.

"Poor little Ri-Ri! Poor tired little girl!"

"Oh, you must not. Signor, you must not."

"Signor," he said reproachfully.

"J-Johnny," she choked.

"That's better. . . . All right, I'll be good, Ri-Ri. Just sit still.
And I'll be good."

But firmly he kept his arm about her and soon her tense little figure
relaxed in that strong clasp. She was not frightened, as last night at
the dance, she felt utterly forlorn and comforted by his strength.

They sat very still, unspeaking in that silent embrace, and about them
it grew colder and darker while the sky seemed to grow thinner and
grayer and clear. And at last against the pallor of the sky, mountain
after mountain lifted itself out of the shadowy cloud mass, and peak
after peak defined itself, stretching on and on like an army of giants.

Then the ridges grew blacker again, and back of one edge a sharp flare
of light flamed, and a blood red disc of a moon came pushing furiously
up into the sky, flinging down a transforming radiance.

In the valley the silvery birches gleamed like wood nymphs against the
ebony firs.

Beauty had touched the world again. A long breath came fluttering from
the girl's lips; she felt strangely solaced and comforted. After all, it
was Johnny with her . . . the fairy prince. Her dreams were coming true
. . . even under the shadow of this tragedy.

Again she felt his lips upon her cheek and now he was trying to turn her
head towards him. Mutely she resisted, drawing away, but his force
increased. She closed her eyes; she felt his kiss upon her hair, her
cheek, the corner of her unstirring mouth.

And she thought that it was his right--if she turned from him she would
seem strangely refusing. An American, she knew, kissed his fiancee
freely.

But it was a treme