deal
to tell."

His face darkened in a way that made her sorry.

"O, well," said he as if it mattered very little about his life, "I had a
nice home--have yet, for the matter of that. Father died when I was
little, and mother let me do just about as I pleased. I went to school
because the other fellows did, and because that was the thing to do. After
I grew up I liked it. That is, I liked some studies; so I went to a
university."

"What is that?"

"O, just a higher school where you learn grown-up things. Then I
travelled. When I came home, I went into society a good deal. But"--and
his face darkened again--"I got tired of it all, and thought I would come
out here for a while and hunt, and I got lost, and I found you!" He smiled
into her face. "Now you know the rest."

Something passed between them in that smile and glance, a flash of the
recognition of souls, and a gladness in each other's company, that made
the heart warm. They said no more for some time, but rode quietly side by
side.

They had come to the end of the valley, and were crossing the bench. The
distant ranch could quite distinctly be seen. The silver moon had come up,
for they had not been hurrying, and a great beauty pervaded everything.
They almost shrank from approaching the buildings and people. They had
enjoyed the ride and the companionship. Every step brought them nearer to
what they had known all the time was an indistinct future from which they
had been joyously shut away for a little time till they might know each
other.

CHAPTER VII

BAD NEWS

They found rest for the night at the ranch house. The place was wide and
hospitable. The girl looked about her with wonder on the comfortable
arrangements for work. If only her mother had had such a kitchen to work
in, and such a pleasant, happy home, she might have been living yet. There
was a pleasant-faced, sweet-voiced woman with gray hair whom the men
called "mother." She gave the girl a kindly welcome, and made her sit down
to a nice warm supper, and, when it was over, led her to a little room
where her own bed was, and told her she might sleep with her. The girl lay
down in a maze of wonder, but was too weary with the long ride to keep
awake and think about it.

They slept, the two travellers, a sound and dreamless sleep, wherein
seemed peace and moonlight, and a forgetting of sorrows.

Early the next morning the girl awoke. The woman by her side was already
stirring. There