his long face she supposed. He,
too, had his pleasurable sense--of respite. For once, though idle,
neither loneliness nor dejection oppressed him. It was good to lean back
lazily in the chariot of the rich, dreamily watching the ever-shifting
picture, soaking in the sunshine. It was good, too--but in no-wise
alarming--to have beside him this pretty girl who knew when not to talk
and in whose occasional smile was a new subtle flattery. It was even
good to be with that odd fish Jonathan Radbourne, for whose company, in a
more fortunate case, he would have had no desire. He was glad Radbourne
had arranged this little party.

They came, at the end of a long climb, to a ridge lifted high above those
they had crossed. On its crest, at a word from Radbourne, the chauffeur
brought his machine to a stop.

Behind them lay the rough broken country of the foot-hills through which
they had passed. And before--the mountains! To them the eyes of the
holiday-takers turned and clung.

Range after range they rose, like mighty billows, mounting higher until
the tallest, dimly outlined in a thickening purplish haze, cut the sky, a
rampart vision could not pierce. They seemed alive, those hills, the
thick untouched growth stirring ceaselessly under the wind, a restless
sea of sunlit green with flashes of white from laurel thickets and soft
glintings where satiny oak-leaves caught and tossed back the slanting
rays. And they sang.

"Listen!" Jonathan commanded, and the chauffeur shut off the panting
motor.

They listened--all but the chauffeur, that philistine, who opened the
hood and gingerly felt of the heated engine. And the voice of the wind,
wandering through the forest, came to them. David heard a long wondering
sigh from the girl beside him.

Jonathan, too, heard and turned quickly.

"That is real music, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"Is it worth the long ride?"

"The ride was good enough in itself, but this--! I never saw mountains
before and I--oh, there aren't words for it."

"I know," Jonathan nodded, and the little twinkling eyes, even through
the hideous goggles, seemed very tender as they rested on her. "'I will
lift mine eyes unto the hills.' The old fellow who sang that knew what
he was talking about, didn't he? If you've happened to mislay a faith
anywhere, the mountains are a good place to look for it."

"Even faith in one's self?"

"The easiest to lose and the hardest to recover? Yes, even tha