Even this crumb of encouragement--that he would so far disobey his
master--filled the girl's heart with hope. "I would love to go with you,
Mr. Marston," she said, "but if it is going to make trouble for you, I
would rather stay."

"You mean that you would rather be locked up in the cabin all day, than to
make trouble for me?" he asked.

"It wouldn't be so terrible," she answered, "and I would like to do
something--something to--to show you that I appreciate your, kindness to
me. There's nothing else I _can_ do, is there?"

The man looked at her wonderingly. It was impossible to doubt her
sincerity. And Sibyl, as she saw his face, knew that she had never before
witnessed such mental and spiritual anguish. The eyes that looked into
hers so questioningly, so pleadingly, were the eyes of a soul in torment.
Her own eyes filled with tears that she could not hide, and she turned
away.

At last he said slowly, "No, Miss Andres, you shall not stay in the cabin
to-day. Come; we must go on, or I shall be late."

At Granite Peak, Sibyl watched the signal flashes from distant
Fairlands--the flashes that Aaron King was watching, from the peak where
they had sat together that day of their last climb. As the man answered
the signals with his mirror, and the girl beside him watched, the artist
was training his glass upon the spot where they stood; but, partially
concealed as they were, the distance was too great.

When Sibyl's captor turned, after receiving the message conveyed by the
flashes of light, his face was terrible to see; and the girl, without
asking, knew that the crisis was drawing near. Deadly fear gripped her
heart; but she was strangely calm. On the way back to the cabin, the man
scarcely spoke, but walked with bent head; and the girl felt him fighting,
fighting. She longed to cry out, to plead with him, to demand that he tell
her why he must do this thing; but she dared not. She knew, instinctively
that he must fight alone. So she watched and waited and prayed. As they
were crossing the face of the canyon wall, on the narrow ledge, the man
stopped and, as though forgetting the girl's presence, stood looking
moodily down into the depths below. Then they went on. That night, he did
not leave the cabin as soon as they had finished their evening meal, but
sat on one of the rude seats with which the little hut was furnished,
gazing into the fire.

The girl's heart beat quicker, as he said, "Miss Andres, I would like