The next morning broke fair and beautiful.

Every trace of the storm had passed away, save that the dust was laid and all nature looked fresher and brighter for the copious bath it had received.

Virgie Abbot, despite her sleeplessness during the first half of the night, was up at an early hour, superintending breakfast for her father and their guest.

If she had been lovely the previous evening she was doubly so now in her pretty flannel wrapper--for the mornings were chilly in that region, even in the summer The wrapper was of a light blue tint, wonderfully becoming to her delicate complexion, and harmonized well with her eyes and the dainty pink in her cheeks.

Her face wore a brighter, more eager look, than was its wont, this morning, and she was full of life and energy that was born of her youth and sunny, hopeful temperament.

The incidents of the previous evening had been a pleasant break in her hitherto monotonous life, and she was now looking forward, with no small degree of interest, to meeting by daylight the handsome stranger who had taken refuge with them.

During all the years that she had been in that rude place she had not seen one real gentleman, excepting her father; they had never before entertained a visitor, and there had been nothing but her reading and studies, her drawing and fancy work, to vary the quiet, almost dull uniformity of her existence.

Mr. Abbot himself looked brighter and better as he came out from his chamber and gave Virgie his usual morning greeting and caress.

This visit had evidently done him good also, and Virgie took "heart of grace" from the fact, and put aside, for the time at least, the anxious fears that had so burdened her the night before.

Breakfast was served in the simple but clean and cheerful kitchen which led from the parlor, while the small table, laid for three, had almost an air of elegance, with its spotless cloth, its few pieces of silver, china, and cut glass, relics of former glory, and the tiny vase of flowers, with the dew and rain still on them, which Virgie had gathered from the edge of the cliff near by.

Mr. Heath's glance expressed something of surprise as it swiftly took in these appointments; but to him the fairest sight of all was the slim but perfect figure of the young girl who sat at the head of the table, and poured his coffee, and waited upon him with all the ease and self-possession of one who had been long accustomed to the formalities and etiquette of high life.

The young man wondered at it. There was no other woman in the house, nor had been since they came there, for Mr. Abbot had mentioned that he lost his wife more than six years ago; but this girl was a perfect little hostess, and dainty, to the last degree, in her person. Her hands were white and delicate, the pretty pink nails without a blemish; her hair soft and silken, showing a careful wielding of the brush; her linen collar and cuffs were immaculate, her handkerchief white as snow, and fine and sheer, while everything about her bespoke lady-like refinement and a high regard for nicety of toilet.

He could hardly keep his eyes off her, she was so fair a picture; but once or twice she had looked up and caught his glance, flushed, and fearing to embarrass her, he turned resolutely to his host and opened a subject upon which he had been thinking quite, seriously.

"I understood you to say last evening, I believe, sir, that you were desirous of disposing of your claim," he remarked.

"Yes; my health is too poor to admit of my working it any longer, and I should be glad to dispose of it to the right person," Mr. Abbot replied.

"I think I know of some one who would like it, if it is still a promising one," the young man said, but a conscious color flushed his cheek slightly as he felt Virgie's eyes turned upon him.

"I honestly believe that it is richer to-day than when I began to work it," Mr. Abbot asserted confidently. "However," he added, "I do not ask you to take my word for it. If you know a party who would like to purchase, tell him to bring an expert and examine for himself; and even then if he is not satisfied to buy outright, he may work it upon shares until he is convinced of its value."

"That is fair, I am sure," said Mr. Heath.

"Perhaps you would like to take a look at it before you go?" suggested his host, who was eager to dispose of his property.

"I would, I assure you," was the reply; "but there is hardly time this morning, for I feel that I must join my party immediately, else they will be anxious regarding my safety. We are bound upon an excursion through the northern portion of the State, and intend to be absent a week or more; but after that, if you will permit me, I will return here and investigate matters--that is, if you will give me the refusal of the claim until then."

As the young man said this, his glance involuntarily wandered again to the beautiful face of Virgie.

There must have been something magnetic in his gaze, for she raised her white lids just then, and met the earnest, wistful look bent upon her.

A flush leaped to her cheek, and her violet eyes dropped instantly upon her plate again, while her heart fluttered like a caged wild bird.

"I will gladly wait your time, Mr. Heath," Mr. Abbot responded, in a satisfied tone. "I begin to think that your losing your way and falling to our care last evening was providential."

"I have no doubt of it, sir," was the grave and reverent reply. "I believe that all our ways are ordered for us; that everything is arranged for us by an All-wise Power."

Something very like a sneer curled the almost colorless lips of his host at this unexpected assertion.

Mr. Abbot was no believer in the individuality of God, and had spoken both lightly and at random when he had referred to the young man's visit as being providential.

"What do you mean by an All-wise Power?" he asked, skeptically.

"I mean God, sir."

"You believe there is a God, then?"

"Certainly; do you not?" and Mr. Heath's kind, grave eyes looked pityingly into the haggard, sunken face before him.

They seemed almost to say, "If you have not this belief to comfort you, with the hand of death laid upon your very heart, I grieve inexpressibly for you."

"If there is, I imagine He must allow Satan to have the control of some of our lives," was the evasive and bitter retort. "Virgie, Mr. Heath's cup is empty."

But his face flushed and his hands trembled as he thus abruptly turned the topic, showing how deeply the subject moved him; notwithstanding his pretended unbelief.

"Thanks; no more coffee for me," Mr. Heath said, with a smile and a bow to his young hostess, as she offered to replenish his cup; but he noticed that there was a troubled, anxious look in her eyes as they rested upon her father.

He made no reply to Mr. Abbot's remark, although he looked a trifle hurt.

He simply said, as he folded his napkin and pushed back his plate:

"I must ask you to excuse me and my lack of ceremony if I bid you good morning, and take French leave. I feel that I ought to get on my way as soon as possible; and believe me I am very grateful for your hospitality and courtesy."

Virgie arose as he spoke, and like the true little lady that she was, assured him that it had been a delight to entertain him, and she should look forward with pleasure to his return.

He thanked her, shook hands warmly with her, and then left the house, followed by Mr. Abbot, who watched him depart with a feeling of regret such as he had not experienced over any one during all the years of his exile.

Still he pleasantly anticipated his coming again, when he meant to make him remain several days.

He had been strangely attracted toward him from the moment when he had first heard his mellow, sympathetic tones, asking to be directed to a place of shelter. He knew that he possessed a grand character, for he carried the stamp of true nobility upon his frank, handsome face.

"That is a promising young man, Virgie," he said, as he returned to the parlor after watching the horse and its rider disappear down the mountain. "I should like to know where he came from, and more about him."

Virgie did not reply, but she turned away from the window where she, too, had been watching the receding horseman, with a shy, sweet smile on her red lips. William Heath's last glance had been for her, as he doffed his hat and bowed low in his saddle when he turned down the road.

During all the week that followed her step was lighter and her face brighter than its wont, and she went singing about the house to the delight of her father, who was now at home all the day long, as he had given up going to the mine.

Mr. Abbot had appeared very thoughtful after the departure of his young guest, often falling into a profound reverie, in which he would sit for hours.

Virgie often wondered what he could be thinking about, but she did not feel like questioning him, lest he should refer again to the painful topic of his leaving her.

One day, however, coming into the room suddenly, she saw her mother's bible in his hands, and she was sure there were tears in his eyes. She appeared not to notice either his employment or his emotion, but soon stole softly away again, and went weeping up to her own room.

After that he busied himself with writing a great deal, and she felt sure that he was making arrangements for her of which he had spoken on that stormy evening. A great dread came over her at the thought of being left alone in the world; and yet, in spite of all, she looked forward to the return of Mr. Heath with more of pleasure and anticipation than she had known for many a year.

Thus more than a week went by, and one afternoon Virgie, her father being asleep and the house oppressively still, took her book and went out to a little nook back of her cottage, where she was in the habit of going to study, and where Chi Lu had built a rustic seat for her beneath a great pine tree that grew out of a cleft in the mountain.

But she could not concentrate her thoughts upon the page before her; they went roving after a coal black steed and its handsome rider, until finally her book dropped from her hands, her eyes fixed themselves dreamily upon the lofty, far-off peaks of the Humboldt Mountains, and she was lost to time and place--everything save her own delightful musings.

So absorbed was she that she was not aware of the approach of any one until a small but exquisitely arranged bouquet of mountain flowers were laid upon the seat beside her, and a rich but well remembered voice said:

"Pardon me, Miss Abbot, for intruding upon your solitude, but Chi Lu told me that Mr. Abbot was resting and could not be disturbed at present, and that I should find you here."

Virginia sprang to her feet, the tint of the wild rose in her cheeks, her violet eyes grown black with repressed excitement.

"Mr. Heath?" she cried, her scarlet lips parting in a bewildering smile.

"Yes; forgive me for having startled you so," he said, gently, then adding with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "You were surely in a very brown study."

"I am afraid I was," she returned, laughing. "But what lovely flowers!" she continued, taking them up and bending to inhale their fragrance. "How kind of you to gather them for me."

The young man's eyes lingered about her in a delighted gaze, for she made the fairest picture imaginable standing there in her soft gray dress with its collar and cuffs of black velvet, a knot of scarlet ribbon at her throat, the brilliant flowers in her hands, and a fleecy white shawl wrapped about her shoulders. Her shining hair was gathered into a satiny brown coil at the back of her head and pinned with a silver arrow, while a few naturally curling locks lay lightly on her forehead. The dark, moss-grown rock was behind her; the softly waving plumy boughs of the pine tree above her, a carpet of tender green beneath her feet.

"You are still trembling from the shock that I have given you," he said in a tone of self-reproach, and noticing how the flowers quivered in her grasp, "pray, pardon me and give me a handshake of welcome, or I shall almost regret that I came."

She looked up frankly into his dark eyes, and laid her small hand unhesitatingly in his.

"You are very welcome, Mr. Heath," she said, "and I am sure that papa will be very glad to see you."

William Heath smiled at her words.

He felt sure that she, too, was glad to see him--that his coming was a pleasant break in the monotony of her life; her varying color, the bright, happy gleam of her eyes told him this.

Her wonderful beauty, so out of place in that wild region, thrilled him strangely. Her queenly manner, her delicacy and refinement astonished him, and he wondered more and more what mysterious circumstances could have combined to drive two such cultivated people so far from civilization to hide themselves in the rugged fastnesses of those dreary mountains.