No; she never had.

“Well”—­and Dorian laughed softly to himself at the apparent egotism of the proposition—­“I must be greater than either of them.  I must know all they know, and more; and that is possible, for I have the ’Key of Knowledge’ which even the most learned scholar cannot get without obedience to the laws and ordinances of the gospel.”

Carlia silently worshiped.

“Now,” he continued in a somewhat lighter vein, “do you realize what you are doing when you say you will be my wife and put up with all the eccentricities of such a man as I am planning to be?  Are you willing to be a poor man’s wife, for I cannot get money and this knowledge I am after at the same time?  Are you willing to go without the latest in dresses and shoes and hats—­if necessary?”

“Haven’t I heard you say that the larger part of love is in giving and not in getting?” replied she.

“Yes, I believe that’s true.”

“Well, then, that’s my answer.  Don’t deny me the joy I can get by the little I can give.”

The sun was nearing the western mountains, the sharpest peaks were already throwing shadows across the valley.

“Come,” said Dorian.  “We had better go down.  Mother has come out of the cabin, and I think she is looking for us.  Supper must be ready.”

He took Carlia’s hand and helped her up.  Then they ran like care-free children down the gentler slopes.

“Wait a minute,” cried Carlia, “I’m out of breath.  I—­I want to ask you another question.”

“Ask a hundred.”

“Well, in the midst of all this studying, kind of in between the great, serious subjects, we’ll find time, will we not, to read ’David Copperfield’—­together?”

He looked into her laughing eyes, and then kissed her.

“Why, yes, of course,” he said.

Then they went on again, hand in hand, down into the valley of sunshine and shadow.

THE END.