' I--don't know rightly how to say
it--but, Daniel, what these hills have been to you, you--you have been
to me. It's sure God's way, Daniel. Let's--let's go to the boy."

CHAPTER XLII.

THE WAY OF THE LOWER TRAIL.

"Fix--the--light, as it was--please? That's--it. Thank you, Doctor.
How beautiful she is--how beautiful!" He seemed to gather
strength, and looked carefully into the face of each member of the
little group about the bed; the shepherd, Old Matt, Aunt Mollie,
Pete, and the physician. Then he turned his eyes back to the
painting. To the watchers, the girl in the picture, holding her
brimming cup, seemed to smile back again.

"I loved her--I loved--her. She was my natural mate--my other
self. I belonged to her--she to me. I--I can't tell you of that
summer--when we were together--alone in the hills--the beautiful
hills--away from the sham and the ugliness of the world that men
have made. The beauty and inspiration of it all I put into my
pictures, and I knew because of that they were good--I knew they
would win a place for me--and--they did. Most of all--I put it
there," (He pointed to the painting on the wall) "and the crowd
saw it and felt it, and did not know what it was. But I knew--I
knew--all the time, I knew. Oh!--if that short summer could have
been lengthened--into years, what might I not have done? Oh, God!
That men--can be--so blind--so blind!"

For a time he lay exhausted, his face still turned toward the
picture, but with eyes closed as though he dreamed. Then suddenly,
he started up again, raising himself on his elbows, his eyes
opened wide, and on his face a look of wondering gladness. They
drew near.

"Do--do--you--hear? She is calling--she is calling again. Yes--
sweetheart--yes, dear. I--I am--com--"

Then, Old Matt and Aunt Mollie led the shepherd from the room.

And this way runs the trail that follows the lower level, where
those who travel, as they go, look always over their shoulders
with eyes of dread, and the gloomy shadows gather long before the
day is done.

CHAPTER XLIII.

POOR PETE.

They buried the artist in the cave as he had directed, close under
the wall on the ledge above the canon, with no stone or
mark of any sort to fix the place. The old mine which he had
discovered was reached by one of the side passages far below in
the depth of the mountain. The grave would never be disturbed.

For two weeks longer, Dr. Coughlan staid with his friend;