“We—­we never mention him any more.  He was a very bad man.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes; it seems he had a wife and four children he had run away from, back in Iowa.  Perhaps that was why his eyes always looked so sad.  She actually advertised for him in one of the Omaha papers.  It was a terrible shock to all of us.  I was so grateful to Howard that he succeeded in opening my eyes in time.”

Mr. Wynkoop placed his hand gently upon her shoulder.  “Never mind, dearie,” he said, cheerfully.  “The West was all so strange to you, and it seemed very wonderful at first.  But that is all safely over with now, and, as my wife, you will forget the unpleasant memories.”

And Miss Spencer, totally oblivious to Brant’s presence, turned impulsively and kissed him.

There was a rustle at the inner door, and Naida stood there.  Their eyes met, and the color mounted swiftly to the girl’s cheeks.  Then he stepped resolutely forward, forgetful of all other presence, and clasped her hand in both his own.  Neither spoke a word, yet each understood something of what was in the heart of the other.

“Will you walk outside with me?” he asked, at last.  “I have much to say which I am sure you would rather hear alone.”

She bent her head, and with a brief word of explanation to the others, the young officer conducted her forth into the bright July sunshine.  They walked in silence side by side along the bank of the little stream.  Brant glanced furtively toward the sweet, girlish face.  There was a pallor on her countenance, a shadow in her eyes, yet she walked with the same easy grace, her head firmly poised above her white throat.  The very sadness marking her features seemed to him an added beauty.

He realized where they were going now, where memory had brought them without conscious volition.  As he led her across the rivulet she glanced up into his face with a smile, as though a happy recollection had burst upon her.  Yet not a word was spoken until the barrier of underbrush had been completely penetrated, and they stood face to face under the trees.  Then Brant spoke.

“Naida,” he said, gravely, “I have come back, as I said I would, and surely I read welcome in your eyes?”

“Yes.”

“And I have come to say that there is no longer any shadow of the dead between us.”

She looked up quickly, her hands clasped, her cheeks flushing.  “Are you sure?  Perhaps you misunderstand; perhaps you mistake my meaning.”

“I know it all,” he answered, soberly, “from the lips of Hampton.”

“You have seen him?  Oh, Lieutenant Brant, please tell me the whole truth.  I have missed him so much, and since the day he rode away to Cheyenne not one word to explain his absence has come back to me.  You cannot understand what this means, how much he has become to me through years of kindness.”

“You have heard nothing?”