the far-off Cypress Hills broke the monotonous skyline of the south.
Already the air was dissipated of its choking weight, and the vast
solitude was filling with that sense of freedom which night seems to shut
in as with four walls, and day to widen gloriously. Tears sprang to her
eyes from a sudden rush of feeling; but her lips were smiling. The world
was so different from what it was yesterday. Something had quickened her
into a glowing life.

Then she urged the horse on, and never halted till she reached home. She
unsaddled the animal that had shared with her the hardship of the long,
hard ride, hobbled it, and entered the house quickly. No one was
stirring. Sergeant Tom was still asleep. This she saw, as she hurriedly
passed in and laid the cap and cloak where she had found them. Then,
once again, she touched the brow of the sleeper with her lips, and went
to her room to divest herself of Val's clothes. The thing had been done
without anyone knowing of her absence. But she was frightened as she
looked into the mirror. She was haggard, and her eyes were bloodshot.
Eight hours or nearly in the saddle, at ten miles an hour, had told on
her severely; as well it might. Even a prairie-born woman, however,
understands the art and use of grooming better than a man. Warm water
quickly heated at the gas, with a little acetic acid in it, used
generally for her scouring,--and then cold water with oatmeal flour, took
away in part the dulness and the lines in the flesh. But the eyes! Jen
remembered the vial of tincture of myrrh left by a young Englishman a
year ago, and used by him for refreshing his eyes after a drinking bout.
She got it, tried the tincture, and saw and felt an immediate benefit.
Then she made a cup of strong green tea, and in ten minutes was like
herself again. Now for the horse. She went quickly out where she could
not be seen from the windows of the house, and gave him a rubbing down
till he was quite dry. Then she gave him a little water and some feed.