He was breathing hard by the time he had made the last ascent and stood in the cool shade of the comforting pines.  He waited until his pulse became slower, wiping his forehead with the blue neckerchief which Prudence had suggested that she liked to see him wear in place of the one of scarlet.  When he had cooled and calmed himself a little, he stepped lightly on.  Around the big rock he went, over the “down timber” beyond it, up over the rise down which the waters tumbled, and then sharply to the right where their nook was, a call to her already on his lips.

But she was not there.  He could see the place at a glance.  Nothing below met his eye but the straight red trunks of the pines and the brown carpet beneath them.  A jay posed his deep shining blue on a cluster of scarlet sumac, and, cocking his crested head, screamed at him mockingly.  The canon’s cool breath fanned him and the pine-tops sighed and sang.  At first he was disheartened; but then his eyes caught a gleam of white and red under the pine, touched to movement by a low-swinging breeze.

It was her hat swaying where she had hung it on a broken bough of the tree she liked to lean against.  And there was her book; not the book of Mormon, but a secular, frivolous thing called “Leaflets of Memory, an Illuminated Annual for the Year 1847.”  It was lying on its face, open at the sentimental tale of “Anastasia.”  He put it down where she had left it.  The canon was narrow and she would hardly leave the waterside for the steep trail.  She would be at the upper cascade or in the little park above it, or somewhere between.  He crossed the stream, and there in the damp sand was the print of a small heel where she had made a long step from the last stone.  He began to hurry again, clambering recklessly over boulders, or through the underbrush where the sides of the stream were steep.  When the upper cascade came in sight his heart leaped, for there he caught the fleeting shimmer of a skirt and the gleam of a dark head.

He hurried on, and after a moment’s climb had her in full view, standing on the ledge below which the big trout lay.  There he saw her turn so that he would have sworn she looked at him.  It seemed impossible that she had not seen him; but to his surprise she at once started up the stream, swiftly footing over the rough way, now a little step, now a free leap, grasping a willow to pull herself up an incline, then disappearing around a clump of cedars.

He redoubled his speed over the rocks.  When she next came into view, still far ahead, he shouted long and loud.  It was almost certain that she must hear; and yet she made no sign.  She seemed even to speed ahead the faster for his hail.

Again he sprang forward to cover the distance between them, and again he shouted when the next view of her showed that he was gaining.  This time he was sure she heard; but she did not look back, and she very plainly increased her speed.