water, and hastily catching her beautiful light hair under a cap, she
slipped down stairs and out past the stockade to the point. There she
seated herself, a heavy shawl about her, and gave herself up to
reflection. She had approached silently, her moccasins giving no
sound. Presently she became aware that someone was there before her.
Looking toward the river she saw on the next level below her a man,
seated on a bowlder, and gazing to the south.

His very soul was in his eyes. Virginia gasped at the change in him
since last she had seen him. The gay, mocking demeanor which had
seemed an essential part of his very flesh and blood had fallen away
from him, leaving a sad and lofty dignity that ennobled his
countenance. The lines of his face were stern, of his mouth pathetic;
his eyes yearned. He stared toward the south with an almost mesmeric
intensity, as though he hoped by sheer longing to materialize a
vision. Tears sprang to the girl's eyes at the subtle pathos of his
attitude.

He stretched his arms wearily over his head, and sighed deeply and
looked up. His eyes rested on the girl without surprise; the
expression of his features did not change.

"Pardon me," he said, simply. "To-day is my last of plenty. I am up
enjoying it."

Virginia had anticipated the usual instantaneous transformation of his
manner when he should catch sight of her. Her resentment was
dispelled. In face of the vaster tragedies little considerations gave
way.