the
subject. At last, as she was leaving the cabin, he had taken her hands
in his, saying, in a strangely tender tone:

"My dear Lyle, because I say little, you must not think I take no
interest in this affair which concerns you so closely. I am deeply
interested, more deeply than you will probably ever know, but it is
for many reasons a painful subject to me, one full of bitter memories;
but I have one favor to ask of you, my dear child, which I know you
will grant for the sake of the memory of the happy hours we have spent
together,--it is this; that whatever proof you may succeed in finding,
you will first bring to me."

"Certainly I will, dear Jack," Lyle had replied, wondering at his
manner, "in whom should I confide if not in you, who have been my
first and best friend."

And he, his dark, piercing eyes looking into the depths of her own,
their gaze softened by tender affection, had replied:

"Yes, your friend always, Lyle, remember that; none truer or more
devoted to you or your welfare; but before long, my dear, your heart
will learn, if it has not learned already, the difference between
friendship and love."

With burning cheeks and tearful eyes Lyle recalled his words, and
pondered deeply on the strange bond that seemed, in some way, to exist
between his life and hers, but the longer she tried to solve the
problem, the deeper and more obscure it seemed.

In the midst of her reflections, she heard a light step upon the rocky
footpath, and looking up, saw Morton Rutherford approaching. So
absorbed was he in the study of the masses of rock about him, on which
had been traced by the finger of the centuries, in wonderful
hieroglyphics, the early history of the earth, that for a time he was
unconscious of her presence there. When he saw her he raised his hat
and came quickly forward.

"I beg your pardon," he said, in deep, musical tones, "I supposed
myself alone with my own thoughts; am I intruding? if so, send me away
at once."

"No, stay, if you please," said Lyle.

"Thank you," he answered, seating himself on the rocks at a little
distance, "you appeared so lost in thought I feared my coming might
annoy you."

"No," she replied, "my thoughts were too perplexing, I was growing
weary of them."

Mr. Rutherford glanced at the surrounding mountains; "Were you, too,
trying to fathom the mystery of the eternal hills?" he asked.

"No," was her reply, "I have never attempted anything so far beyond me
as