Moments strong and all-satisfying had been multiplying for Bent Wade of late.  But this one magnified all.  As he sat back upon the chair he seemed a little husky of voice.

“Well, well, an’ so you kissed ugly old Bent Wade?”

“Yes, and I’ve wanted to do it before,” she retorted.  The dark excitation in her eyes, the flush of her pale cheeks, made her beautiful then.

“Lass, now you read your letter an’ answer it.  You can tear out the pages.  I’ll sit here an’ be makin’ out to be readin’ aloud out of this book here, if any one happens in sudden-like!”

“Oh, how you think of everything!”

The hunter sat beside her pretending to be occupied with the book he had taken from the table when really he was stealing glances at her face.  Indeed, she was more than pretty then.  Illness and pain had enhanced the sweetness of her expression.  As she read on it was manifest that she had forgotten the hunter’s presence.  She grew pink, rosy, scarlet, radiant.  And Wade thrilled with her as she thrilled, loved her more and more as she loved.  Moore must have written words of enchantment.  Wade’s hungry heart suffered a pang of jealousy, but would not harbor it.  He read in her perusal of that letter what no other dreamed of, not even the girl herself; and it was certitude of tragic and brief life for her if she could not live for Wilson Moore.  Those moments of watching her were unutterably precious to Wade.  He saw how some divine guidance had directed his footsteps to this home.  How many years had it taken him to get there!  Columbine read and read and reread—­a girl with her first love-letter.  And for Wade, with his keen eyes that seemed to see the senses and the soul, there shone something infinite through her rapture.  Never until that unguarded moment had he divined her innocence, nor had any conception been given him of the exquisite torture of her maiden fears or the havoc of love fighting for itself.  He learned then much of the mystery and meaning of a woman’s heart.

CHAPTER XIII

Dear Wilson,—­The note and letter from you have taken my breath away.  I couldn’t tell—­I wouldn’t dare tell, how they made me feel.

“Your good news fills me with joy.  And when Ben told me you wouldn’t lose your leg—­that you would get well—­then my eyes filled and my heart choked me, and I thanked God, who’d answered my prayers.  After all the heartache and dread, it’s so wonderful to find things not so terrible as they seemed.  Oh, I am thankful!  You have only to take care of yourself now, to lie patiently and wait, and obey Ben, and soon the time will have flown by and you will be well again.  Maybe, after all, your foot will not be so bad.  Maybe you can ride again, if not so wonderfully as before, then well enough to ride on your father’s range and look after his stock.  For, Wilson dear, you’ll have to go home.  It’s your duty.  Your father must be getting old now.  He needs you.  He has forgiven you—­you bad boy!  And you are very lucky.  It almost kills me to think of your leaving White Slides.  But that is selfish.  I’m going to learn to be like Ben Wade.  He never thinks of himself.