Never once did he doubt this truth, and the knowledge gripped him with fingers of steel.

Even as he stood there, looking back upon her quivering figure, it was no longer hate of Farnham which controlled; it was love for her.

He took a step toward her, hesitant, uncertain, his heart a-throb with sympathy; yet what could he say?
What could he do?
Utterly helpless to comfort, unable to even suggest a way out, he drew back silently, closed the door behind him, and shut her in.

He felt one clear, unalterable conviction--under God, it should not be for long.
He stood there in the brilliant sunlight, bareheaded still; looking dreamily off across the wide reach of the canyon.

How peaceful, how sublimely beautiful, it all appeared; how delicately the tints of those distant trees blended and harmonized with the brown rocks beyond! The broad, spreading picture slowly impressed itself upon his brain, effacing and taking the place of personal animosity.