Having made the ascent twice before, I needed no guide.  So I decided; but I regretted the decision.  Three times I lost the path; once I came perilously near descending on the village below—­well, without hesitation.  It was well after midnight when I passed the Half-way House, and I urged my donkey forward with a continual rat-a-tat-tat of well-directed kicks in the effort to make my goal.

You who have experienced the philosophical calm and superb indifference of the Pike’s Peak donkey may imagine the vocabulary I used on this occasion—­I dare not print it.  Nor did his speed increase.

I was, in fact, a quarter of an hour late.  I was still several hundred yards from the summit when the sun’s first rays shot through the thin atmosphere, creating colorful riot among the clouds below, and I stopped, holding my breath in awe.

There is no art nor poetry in that wonderful sight; it is glorious war.  The sun charges forth in a vast flame of inconceivable brilliance; you can almost hear the shout of victory.  He who made the universe is no artist; too often He forgets restraint, and blinds us.

I turned, almost regretting that I had come, for I had been put out of tune with my task.  Then I mounted the donkey and slowly traversed the few remaining yards to the Peak.

There, seated in the dazzling sunshine on the edge of a huge boulder near the eastern precipice, were the two I sought.

Le Mire’s head was turned from me as she sat gazing silently at the tumbling, gorgeous mass of clouds that seemed almost to be resting on her lap; Harry was looking at her.  And such a look!

There was no rival even in nature that could conquer Le Mire; never, I believe, did woman achieve a more notable victory than hers of that morning.  I watched them for several minutes before I moved or spoke; and never once did Harry’s eyes leave her face.

Then I advanced a step, calling his name; and they turned and caught sight of me.

“Paul!” cried Harry, leaping to his feet; then he stopped short and stared at me half defiantly, half curiously, moving close to Le Mire and placing his hand on her shoulder like a child clinging to a toy.

His companion had not moved, except to turn her head; but after the first swift shadow of surprise her face brightened with a smile of welcome, for all the world as though this were a morning call in her boudoir.

“Senor and Senora Ramal, I believe?” said I with a smile, crossing to them with an exaggerated bow.

I could see Harry cocking his ear to catch the tone of my first words, and when he heard their friendliness a grin overspread his face.  He took his hand from Le Mire’s shoulder and held it out to me.

“How did you come here?  How did you find us?”

“You forgot to provide Le Mire with a veil,” said I by way of answer.

Harry looked at me, then at his companion.  “Of course,” he agreed—­“of course.  By Jove! that was stupid of us.”