such a hurricane."

"Well, ma'am," he drawled, "I sure hate to burn daylight. And you and I
have burned a heap of daylight. We've been scandalously extravagant.
We might have been married years ago."

Two days later, Daylight stood waiting outside the little Glen Ellen
hotel. The ceremony was over, and he had left Dede to go inside and
change into her riding-habit while he brought the horses. He held them
now, Bob and Mab, and in the shadow of the watering-trough Wolf lay and
looked on. Already two days of ardent California sun had touched with
new fires the ancient bronze in Daylight's face. But warmer still was
the glow that came into his cheeks and burned in his eyes as he saw
Dede coming out the door, riding-whip in hand, clad in the familiar
corduroy skirt and leggings of the old Piedmont days. There was warmth
and glow in her own face as she answered his gaze and glanced on past
him to the horses. Then she saw Mab. But her gaze leaped back to the
man.

"Oh, Elam!" she breathed.

It was almost a prayer, but a prayer that included a thousand meanings
Daylight strove to feign sheepishness, but his heart was singing too
wild a song for mere playfulness. All things had been in the naming of
his name--reproach, refined away by gratitude, and all compounded of
joy and love.

She stepped forward and caressed the mare, and again turned and looked
at the man, and breathed:--

"Oh, Elam!"

And all that was in her voice was in her eyes, and in them Daylight
glimpsed a profundity deeper and wider than any speech or thought--the
whole vast inarticulate mystery and wonder of sex and love.

Again he strove for playfulness of speech, but it was too great a
moment for even love fractiousness to enter in. Neither spoke. She
gathered the reins, and, bending, Daylight received her foot in his
hand. She sprang, as he lifted and gained the saddle. The next moment
he was mounted and beside her, and, with Wolf sliding along ahead in
his typical wolf-trot, they went up the hill that led out of town--two
lovers on two chestnut sorrel steeds, riding out and away to honeymoon
through the warm summer day. Daylight felt himself drunken as with
wine. He was at the topmost pinnacle of life. Higher than this no man
could climb nor had ever climbed. It was his day of days, his
love-time and his mating-time, and all crowned by this virginal
possession of a mate who had said "Oh, Elam," as she had said it, and
looked at him