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Before three days had passed he would be in his studio home again. And the woman of the observation car platform From distant Fairlands, the man turned his eyes to the winsome face of his girl comrade on the mountain top. "Please" she said, meeting his serious gaze with a smile of frank fellowship "please, what have I done?"
Once again, he was painting in the sacred quiet of the spring glade where she had come to him with her three gifts; where, in maidenly innocence, she had danced the dance of the butterflies; and, later, with her music, had lifted their friendship to heights of purity as far above the comprehension of the company that listened to her now, as the mountain peaks among the stars that night were high above the house on Fairlands Heights.
Would the friendship born in the hills endure in the world beyond the canyon gates? Could it endure away from those scenes that had given it birth? Was it possible for a fellowship, established in the free atmosphere of the mountains, to live in the lower altitude of Fairlands? Sibyl Andrés, as she sat there, alone in the hills she loved, in her heart of hearts, answered her own questions, "No."
There was no mistaking the pure, vibrant tones of the music to which the man listened with amazed delight. It was the music of the, to him, unknown violinist who lived hidden in the orange grove next door to his studio home in Fairlands. The Forest Ranger's Story Perhaps the motive that, in Fairlands, had restrained the artist from seeking to know his neighbor was without force in the mountains.
Parts of the picture were little more than sketched in, but still, line and color spoke with accusing truth the spirit of the company that had gathered at the banquet in the home on Fairlands Heights, the night of Mr. Taine's death. The figures were not portraits, it is true, but they expressed with striking fidelity, the lives and characters of those who had, that night, been assembled by Mrs.
Why had he not known, when he painted her portrait in the rose garden? Why had the awakening not come until that night when he saw her in the company of revelers at the big house on Fairlands Heights the night that Mr. Taine died? It was dark before he reached the canyon gates.
It was one o'clock when the artist resting his eyes for a moment, after a long, searching look through the glass caught, again, that flash of light in the blue haze that lay over Fairlands in the distant valley.
I really must be going." As she went down the flower-bordered path towards the street, the woman on the porch, again, stretched out her arms appealingly. Then, as Sibyl reached her side, the poor creature clasped the girl in a close embrace, and burst into bitter tears. Upon the return of the Taines and James Rutlidge to the house on Fairlands Heights, Mrs.
The novelist knocked the ashes from his pipe by tapping it on the veranda railing. The action seemed to express a peculiar mental effort; as though he were striving to recall something that had gone from his memory. "I saw what happened at the depot, of course," he said slowly. "I have seen the woman before. She lives here in Fairlands. Her name is Miss Willard.
Conrad Lagrange explained that there were three ways back to the world they had left, nearly a month before the pipe-line trail to the reservoir and so down to the power-house and the Fairlands road; the Government trail from the pipe-line, over the Galenas to the valley on the other side; or, the Oak Knoll trail down to Clear Creek and out through the canyon gates the way they had come.
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