Off there to the eastward was his old home, with its wide fields, its deep memories.

There his forefathers had lived for generations and had been the leaders, making their name always the same with that of gentleman.
Farther away, beyond that dim line lay the great world, the world of which he had had as a boy a single glimpse and which he would yet conquer.
Keith had climbed to the crest of the Ridge and was making his way through the great pines to the point where the crag jutted out sheer and massive, overlooking the reaches of rolling country below, when he lifted his eyes, and just above him, half seated, half reclining against a ledge of rock, was the very girl he had seen two days before.

Her eyes were closed, and her face was so white that the thought sprang into Keith's mind that she was dead, and his heart leaped into his throat.

At the distance of a few yards he stopped and scanned her closely.

She had on a riding-habit; her hat had fallen on her neck; her dark hair, loosened, lay about her throat, increasing the deep pallor of her face.
Keith's pity changed into sorrow.