waters. Slope after slope, ridge beyond ridge, canyon merging into
canyon--so the tremendous bowl sunk away to its black, deceiving depths,
a wilderness across which travel seemed impossible.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Jean.

"Indeed it is!" murmured the girl. "Shore that is Arizona. I reckon
I love THIS. The heights an' depths--the awfulness of its wilderness!"

"An' you want to leave it?"

"Yes an' no. I don't deny the peace that comes to me heah. But not
often do I see the Basin, an' for that matter, one doesn't live on
grand scenery."

"Child, even once in a while--this sight would cure any misery, if you
only see. I'm glad I came. I'm glad you showed it to me first."

She too seemed under the spell of a vastness and loneliness and beauty
and grandeur that could not but strike the heart.

Jean took her hand again. "Girl, say you will meet me here," he said,
his voice ringing deep in his ears.

"Shore I will," she replied, softly, and turned to him. It seemed
then that Jean saw her face for the first time. She was beautiful
as he had never known beauty. Limned against that scene, she gave
it life--wild, sweet, young life--the poignant meaning of which
haunted yet eluded him. But she belonged there. Her eyes were
again searching his, as if. for some lost part of herself, unrealized,