touched his own, even in greeting, since he bade good-bye to his invalid
mother and came out to these wilds to do his work. It thrilled him to
the very soul and he was minded of the sweet awe that had come upon him
in his own cabin as he looked upon the little articles of woman's toilet
lying upon his table as if they were at home. He could not understand
his own mood. It seemed like weakness. He turned aside and frowned at
himself for his foolish sentimentality towards a stranger whom he had
found upon the desert. He laid it to the weariness of the long journey
and the sleepless night.

"I found them in the sand. They showed me the way to find you," he said,
trying vainly to speak in a commonplace tone. But somehow his voice
seemed to take on a deep significance. He looked at her shyly, half
fearing she must feel it, and then murmuring something about looking
after the horses he hurried away.

When he came back she had mastered the rebellious hair, and it lay
shining and beautiful, braided and coiled about her shapely head. She
was standing now, having shaken down and smoothed out the rumpled riding
habit, and had made herself look quite fresh and lovely in spite of the
limited toilet conveniences.

He caught his breath as he saw her. The two regarded one another
intensely for just an instant, each startlingly conscious of the other's
personality, as men and women will sometimes get a glimpse beyond mere
body and sight the soul. Each was aware of a thrilling pleasure in the
presence of the other. It was something new and wonderful that could not
be expressed nor even put into thoughts as yet but something none the
less real that flashed along their consciousness like the song of the
native bird, the scent of the violet, the breath of the morning.

The instant of soul recognition passed and then each recovered
self-possession, but it was the woman who spoke first.

"I feel very much more respectable," she laughed pleasantly. "Where is
my vicious little horse? Isn't it time we were getting back?"

Then a cloud of anxiety came over the brightness of the man's face.

"That is what I was coming to tell you," he said in a troubled tone.
"The wicked little beast has eaten off his hobble and fled. There isn't
a sight of him to be seen far or wide. He must have cleared out while we
were at dinner, for he was munching grass peaceably enough before you
woke up. It was careless of me not to make him more secure. The hobble