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“Now, Mr. Hays, do you want to know what this warning or special revelation of yours REALLY meant? Well, it had nothing whatever to do with that man on the summit. No. The whole interest, gist, and meaning of it was simply this, that you should turn round and come straight back here and”–she drew back and made him an exaggerated theatrical curtsey–“have the supreme pleasure of making MY acquaintance! That was all. And now, as you’ve HAD IT, in five minutes I must be off. You’ve offered me already your horse and sleigh to go to the summit. I accept it and go! Good-by!”

He knew nothing of a woman’s coquettish humor; he knew still less of that mimic stage from which her present voice, gesture, and expression were borrowed; he had no knowledge of the burlesque emotions which that voice, gesture, and expression were supposed to portray, and finally and fatally he was unable to detect the feminine hysteric jar and discord that underlay it all. He thought it was strong, characteristic, and real, and accepted it literally. He rose.

“Ef you allow you can’t stay, why I’ll go and get the horse. I reckon he ain’t bin put up yet.”

“Do, please.”

He grimly resumed his coat and hat and disappeared through the passage into the kitchen, whence, a moment later, Zuleika came flying.

“Well, what has happened?” she said eagerly.

“It’s all right,” said the woman quickly, “though he knows nothing yet. But I’ve got things fixed generally, so that he’ll be quite ready to have it broken to him by this time to-morrow. But don’t you say anything till I’ve seen Jack and you hear from HIM. Remember.”

She spoke rapidly; her cheeks were quite glowing from some sudden energy; so were Zuleika’s with the excitement of curiosity. Presently the sound of sleigh-bells again filled the room. It was Hays leading the horse and sleigh to the door, beneath a sky now starlit and crisp under a northeast wind. The fair stranger cast a significant glance at Zuleika, and whispered hurriedly, “You know he must not come with me. You must keep him here.”

She ran to the door muffled and hooded, leaped into the sleigh, and gathered up the reins.

“But you cannot go alone,” said Hays, with awkward courtesy. “I was kalkilatin'”–

“You’re too tired to go out again, dad,” broke in Zuleika’s voice quickly. “You ain’t fit; you’re all gray and krinkly now, like as when you had one of your last spells. She’ll send the sleigh back to-morrow.”

“I can find my way,” said the lady briskly; “there’s only one turn off, I believe, and that”–

“Leads to the stage station three miles west. You needn’t be afraid of gettin’ off on that, for you’ll likely see the down stage crossin’ your road ez soon ez you get clear of the ranch.”

“Good-night,” said the lady. An arc of white spray sprang before the forward runner, and the sleigh vanished in the road.

Father and daughter returned to the office.

“You didn’t get to know her, dad, did ye?” queried Zuleika.

“No,” responded Hays gravely, “except to see she wasn’t no backwoods or mountaineering sort. Now, there’s the kind of woman, Zuly, as knows her own mind and yours too; that a man like your brother Jack oughter pick out when he marries.”

Zuleika’s face beamed behind her father. “You ain’t goin’ to sit up any longer, dad?” she said, as she noticed him resume his seat by the fire. “It’s gettin’ late, and you look mighty tuckered out with your night’s work.”

“Do you know what she said, Zuly?” returned her father, after a pause, which turned out to have been a long, silent laugh.

“No.”

“She said,” he repeated slowly, “that she reckoned I came back here to-night to have the pleasure of her acquaintance!” He brought his two hands heavily down upon his knees, rubbing them down deliberately towards his ankles, and leaning forward with his face to the fire and a long-sustained smile of complete though tardy appreciation.