r there, ordered a saddle-horse for one o'clock in the morning,
went to his room, slept soundly and, shortly after he was called,
started for Music Mountain. He walked his horse into the Gap and rode
straight for Duke Morgan's fortress. Leaving the horse under a heavy
mountain-pine close to the road, de Spain walked carefully but
directly around the house to the east side. The sky was cloudy and the
darkness almost complete. He made his way as close as he could to
Nan's window, and raised the soft, crooning note of the desert owl.

After a while he was able to distinguish the outline of her casement,
and, with much patience and some little skill remaining from the
boyhood days, he kept up the faint call. Down at the big barn the
chained watch-dog tore himself with a fury of barking at the intruder,
but mountain-lions were common in the Gap, and the noisy sentinel
gained no credit for his alarm. Indeed, when the dog slackened his
fierceness, de Spain threw a stone over his way to encourage a fresh
outburst. But neither the guardian nor the intruder was able to arouse
any one within the house.

Undeterred by his failure, de Spain held his ground as long as he
dared. When daybreak threatened, he withdrew. The following night he
was in the Gap earlier, and with renewed determination. He tossed a
pebble into Nan's open window and renewed his soft call. Soon, a light
flickered for an instant within the room and died out. In the darkness
following this, de Spain thought he discerned a figure outlined at the
casement. Some minutes later a door opened and closed. He repeated the
cry of the owl, and could hear a footstep; the next moment he
whispered her name as she stood before him.

"What is it you want?" she asked, so calmly that it upset him. "Why do
you come here?"

Where he stood he was afraid of the sound of her voice, and afraid of
his own. "To see you," he said, collecting himself. "Come over to the
pine-tree."

Under its heavy branches where the darkness was most intense, he told
her why he had come--because he could not see her anywhere outside.

"There is nothing to see me about," she responded, still calm. "I
helped you because you were wounded. I was glad to see you get away
without fighting--I hate bloodshed."

"But put yourself in my place a little, won't you? After what you did
for me, isn't it natural I should want to be sure you are well and not
in any trouble on my account?"

"It may be natural, but