some remarkable effect upon Sally. Gradually she had been
losing that strange and somber mood she had acquired, to brighten and
change more and more. Perhaps she divined something about Diane and
Steele that escaped me. Anyway, all of a sudden she was transformed.
"Look here, if you people want to spoon, please get out on top," she
said.

If that was not the old Sally Langdon I did not know who it was. Miss
Sampson tried to appear offended, and Steele tried to look insulted, but
they both failed. They could not have looked anything but happy. Youth
and love were too strong for this couple, whom circumstances might well
have made grave and thoughtful. They were magnet and steel, powder and
spark. Any moment, right before my eyes, I expected them to rush right
into each other's arms. And when they refrained, merely substituting
clasped hands for a dearer embrace, I closed my eyes and remembered
them, as they would live in my memory forever, standing crushed together
on the ridge that day, white lips to white lips, embodying all that was
beautiful, passionate and tragic.

And I, who had been their undoing, in the end was their salvation. How I
hugged that truth to my heart!

It seemed, following Sally's pert remark, that after an interval of
decent dignity, Diane and Steele did go out upon the top of the stage.
"Russ," whispered Sally, "they're up to something. I heard a few words.
I bet you they're going to get married in San Antonio."

"Well, it's about time," I replied.

"But oughtn't they take us into their confidence?"

"Sally, they have forgotten we are upon the earth."

"Oh, I'm so glad they're happy!"

Then there was a long silence. It was better for me to ride lying down,
in which position I was at this time. After a mile Sally took my hand
and held it without speaking. My heart leaped, but I did not open my
eyes or break that spell even with a whisper. "Russ, I must say--tell
you--"

She faltered, and still I kept my eyes closed. I did not want to wake up
from that dream. "Have I been very--very sad?" she went on.

"Sad and strange, Sally. That was worse than my bullet-holes." She
gripped my hand. I felt her hair on my brow, felt her breath on my
cheek.

"Russ, I swore--I'd hate you if you--if you--"

"I know. Don't speak of it," I interposed hurriedly.

"But I don't hate you. I--I love you. And I can't give you up!"

"Darling! But, Sally, can you get over it--can you forget?"

"Yes. That horri