The former beautiful valley was a prison. The hills in which his boyhood
had been spent lost all their loveliness. How foolish, anyway, he began
to think, to always live in a narrow valley, and never know anything of
the broad world without. Surely the soul will grow small in such
conditions.

Early that spring, Rupert packed his possessions in a bundle which he
tied behind the saddle on his horse and bade good-bye to his friends.

"Where are you going, Rupe?" they asked.

But his answer was always, "I don't know."




VIII.

"No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous:
nevertheless, afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of
righteousness unto them that are exercised
thereby."--_Heb. 12:11_.


Rupert Ames had ridden all day, resting only at noon to permit his horse
to graze. As for himself, he was not tired. The long pent-up energy had
begun to escape, and it seemed that he could have ridden, or walked, or
in any way worked hard for a long time without need of rest. Move, move
he must. He had been dormant long enough; thinking, thinking, nothing
but that for months. It would have driven him mad had he not made a