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He was a hunted miscreant, wounded, riding for his life as a hurt wolf dodges to shake off the pursuit, but strangely enough her gallant heart thrilled to the indomitable pluck of him. Never had she seen a man who looked more the vagabond enthroned. His crisp bronze curls and his superb shoulders were bathed in the sunpour.
"Are you a good climber?" As she stood in the sunpour, her cheeks flushed with exercise, he could see that her spirit courted adventure. "I'm sure I must be," she answered with a smile adorable. "I believe I could do the Matterhorn to-day." Well up on the shoulder of the ridge they stopped to breathe. The distant noise of falling water came faintly to them.
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