the glory of the mountains, full-leafed,
shrouded in evening shadows, blue-veiled
in the distance, was unspeakable, and
through the Gap the sun was sending his
last rays as though he, too, meant to take a
peep at her before he started around the
world to welcome her next day. And she
must know everything at once. The
anniversary of the Great Day on which all men
were pronounced free and equal was only
ten days distant and preparations were
going on. There would be a big crowd of
mountaineers and there would be sports
of all kinds, and games, but the tournament
was to be the feature of the day.

``A tournament?'' ``Yes, a tournament,''
repeated the little sister, and Marston was
going to ride and the mean thing would
not tell what mediaeval name he meant to
take. And the Hon. Sam Budd--did the
Blight remember him? (Indeed, she did)
--had a ``dark horse,'' and he had bet
heavily that his dark horse would win
the tournament--whereat the little sister
looked at Marston and at the Blight and
smiled disdainfully. And the Wild Dog--
DID she remember him? I checked the
sister here with a glance, for Marston
looked uncomfortable and the Blight saw