The little cabin at the foot of the mountain was enshrouded in gloom, would soon be engulfed by the dark shadows of night. In the cabin window a candle light, wafted by the soft twilight breeze, flickered and sputtered, but burned on in obedience to the will of the powers that be. In a bed in one corner of the room lay Nora, that sweet girl of the wilds, a pallor spread over her face.

The light in the window was flickering just as her own life had been flickering and smoldering, but it did not go out. She was still alive, and the crucial point had been passed. Now she lay, the Diana of the hills, as beautiful as the Diana of old. Outside 'neath the large spreading tree the chickens were strutting, craning their necks, bobbing their heads up and down, looking upward preparatory to a flight to the limbs above them. On the rickety little porch old Rover was lying, head cast down between his front forepaws, with a sorrowful expression upon his dog face. The mistress had been ill for some time, and his master—Wade—had not paid the least attention to him, always appearing as though he preferred being alone; so the old dog, feeling the many slights, went about with a cast-down countenance.

Earlier in the day Wade had passed going toward the mountain in search of game. Later on he was blazing his way, with the barrel of his rifle, through the thick underbrush down the mountain side. He had got into entire new territory, and sometimes it became necessary for him to crawl through, so thick was the brush. Other times he merely pushed aside the low-hanging limbs with his gun, finally emerging from the thicket into the open space. When space would allow he straightened himself out, then his back ached and his hands and knees were very sore. Suddenly he caught the sound of a disturbed rabbit as it flitted out from its snug nest beneath the shrub. Jack looked quickly in that direction, in time to see it crossing the ravine too far away to shoot. As he walked on there came to his listening ears the shrill whistle of a mountain quail as it sang out its note of warning to its hidden mate near. Wade started off in the direction whence the call of the quail came, but after walking some distance gave up the search and stood still. A dead silence prevailed. Before him was the clear running stream, behind him a wild waste of mountain. Down to the stream's edge he walked, and sat down to rest his tired, weary, sore limbs. The sun was now setting behind the western hills, the soft gentle twilight was drooping over the mountain and valley; still Wade sat, dangling his feet over a precipice, gazing down through the gathering mist into the gleaming waters below, watching them as they went dancing gleefully over the rocks, sending their sparkling, silvery spray high into the air, falling again like silver bubbles. When the dark shadows swooped down and the day was no more, he still sat. When the golden moon rose above the towering mountain, dispelling the hideousness of a lonesome, dark night, he was still sitting in the same spot, dangling his heels against the solid embankment. Across his limbs lay his rifle, his right hand protecting it, while his chin rested firmly in his left hand, which was supported at the elbow by his left leg. Thus he sat silent, no sound save that of the rippling waters of the little running brook breaking the stillness of the night.

"Ah me, ah me!" sighed Wade. His head was bent and his heart was stooped; it must be all over. "For so long a time have I been about this mountain, and the object of my coming, though faithfully sought, has not been found; my purpose remains yet unfulfilled. The tortures I would have inflicted upon others have been turned upon my own heart. My soul is sad. I give up, I give up, for all time. There are now no murderous intents in my heart, there are now no evil designs in my life. Would that I was at peace with everybody. All my heart's desire is peace, sweet peace, that I might spend the balance of my days amid the sweet perfumed mountain flowers and about this dear little stream with whose swiftly running waters I have raced so often, always with her, the sweetest and most beautiful of all. Dear wild flower of the mountain!"

Wade raised his head until he looked into the beautiful blue of the heavens. The gleaming stars, arrayed in silvery brightness, looked down on him.

"Speak, lights of God, speak to my waiting heart, speak to my burdened soul and tell me, if you can, what the future holds in store for me. Am I to continue in hell on earth for my evil life? If so, tell me quick that I might dash my head against yonder rock and end the torture now. If not, speak, that she might live. God save her, let not her present illness separate us forever. It would blight my life; it would kill me. Save her that she may save my soul from a torturous hell; save her that her sweet life might be a blessing to the great, big world beyond this mountain, which she so much longs to see."

Jack felt much better—as does anyone after a faithful prayer. He felt that his prayer had been answered already, and rose in great haste to make his way back over the mountain to the bedside of Nora. He had not seen her all day, had been afraid to see her lest he should find her cold in death, but rather spent a great portion of the day in prayer for her immediate relief. When he arrived at the cabin of Peter Judson the flickering candle-light was still in the window, burning low. His heart sank; it was emblematic of a low ebbing life. With bowed head and unsteady step he went in. Old Rover, still lying quietly and silently on the porch, did not rise at Wade's approach, but wagged his tail in recognition. A death-like quiet pervaded the place, a solemn stillness overspread the home, but he was encouraged to go on, with a feeling that matters were improved.

Old Peter met him at the door, and to his anxious, questioning stare he said: "She's much better; the danger is over."

"Thank God," came in broken whisper.

Wade sat down by the bedside and took the slender, pale hand in his own strong one. For a moment no sound came from the lips of either of them, they just looked into each other's eyes until the weaker ones became mist-filled, and those strong, manly eyes of Jack Wade battled hard against heavy odds just at that moment, but the tears were held firmly back while he rubbed the hand which he held.

"I'm much better now, Jack." The voice was low and weak, but sweet and serene. "Your presence is like good medicine. Why haven't you been by before?"

Wade would not tell her that the balm came from God; therein he was weak. His excuse was, however, satisfying to the tired and worn mind, and strength to the wasted frame. She looked up into his face sweetly.

"You look so tired and worn, Jack," she said, "have you been worrying a great deal?"

"I have worried much, dear girl, on your account. Now that you are better, I will not look worried any more."

"Have you encountered any trouble lately, has your life been threatened?"

"It has not. All has been peace and quiet without; the turbulence has been within only. I do not have fears for anything as regards the power or will of man. We must not talk of those things just now. When you are stronger I have much to tell you."

"Then I must get stronger fast, for I cannot bear to lie here while you are withholding something from me."

"I fear you won't like me when I have confessed and laid my life bare before you."

"That cannot be, Jack. Nothing at all shall separate us, so far as I am concerned."

Wade raised the thin pale hand to his lips and kissed it, thus bringing a flush to her sweet face.