"Don't joke, dear. You saved my life at the risk of your own. Are
you always doing insane, generous, dangerous things? Think if you
had been--" She shivered.

"Do you suppose my life is worth anything to me without yours,
Sylvie?" He bent his head and kissed her again, but he had learned
his lesson, and there was restraint and timidity in that kiss.

"The sun's come out," cried Sylvie.

"Yes, it's splendidly bright. There's a clean slit in the sky; there
at the western edge the dark gray cap is being lifted inch by inch,
the way a boy lifts his cap to see the butterfly he's caught. All's
gold behind it, Sylvie, burning gold. The rocks are like bright
copper. And the pines, they're incandescent, phosphorescent green--"

"If I could only see it!"

Down near the pines a tall, still figure stood watching them. It was
Pete, and his smile, usually so frank and sweet, had now a sardonic
twist. As they came down out of their sun into his shadow, he spoke
with a drag to his syllables.

"Hullo," he said. "That was a narrow escape you had, you two!"

The voice might have been a pistol-shot for the start it gave to Hugh.

"Why, it's Pete. We must be late, Pete," Sylvie called joyously. "Did
you see how Hugh saved my life? He threw himself down before the rock
and stopped it. He's hurt his poor arm. The great stone was right