g, the Colonel's face grew
white as death. For a moment he choked for breath, and his sister sobbed
aloud when he recovered himself, for she too had seen.

"I thank a merciful Providence--it is Grace," he said.

I lifted Grace from the pony's back, led her toward the house, and saw the
old man fold his arms about her. Then I heard her happy cry, and while for
a time they forgot all about me, I stood holding the pony's rein and
thinking. My first impulse was to go forward and claim her before them,
but that was too much like taking advantage of her father's relief. Also,
I felt that some things are sacred, and the presence of any stranger would
be an intrusion then, while it seemed hardly fitting to forthwith demand
such a reward for what any other should doubtless have done gladly. So,
trusting that Grace would understand, I turned away, determined to call on
the Colonel the next morning, and, though I am not sure that the result
would otherwise have been different, I afterward regretted it. Now I know
that any excess of delicacy or consideration for others which may cause
unnecessary sorrow to those nearest us is only folly.

No one called me back, or apparently noticed me, and though with much
difficulty I reached the ranch, and was hospitably entertained there, I
never closed my eyes all night. I returned to the Colonel's dwelling as
early as possible the next morning, and was at once received by him. The
events of the preceding day had left their impression even on him, and for
once his eyes were kindly, while it was with perceptible emotion he
grasped my hand.

"I am indebted to you for life, and you acted with discernment as well as
gallantry," he said. "You have an old man's fervent thanks, and if he can
ever repay such a service you may rely on his gratitude."

I do not know why, for they were evidently sincere enough, but the words
struck me unpleasantly. They seemed to emphasize the difference between
us, and there was only one favor I would ever ask of him.

"You can return it now with the greatest honor it is in your power to
grant any living man," I answered bluntly. "I ask the promise of Miss
Carrington's hand."

I feel sure now that there was pity in his eyes for a moment, though I
scarcely noticed it then, and he answered gravely:

"I am sorry. You have asked the one thing impossible. When Miss Carrington
marries it will be in accordance with my wishes and an arrangement made
with a dead kinsman