while the sun transformed the far-off
glacier into a lake of glory, and then sank behind El Capitan for the
night. Then Job spoke. A long while he talked. The memories of
childhood; the sweet face that grew strangely white in the city of the
plains and left him; the early days at Pine Tree Ranch; the steps of a
downward life; that grand old camp-meeting and what it did for him--of
these he spoke, and yet did not cease. The years of youth and young
manhood, the bitter persecutions and temptations, the triumphs through
the personal presence and help of the Master, were his theme. For the
first time a human friend learned the real story of that awful night
in the second tunnel and the long, long day in the lonely Gulch. The
young man grew excited and stood up as he paid loving tribute to the
reality of religion in his life and the tender, most divine friendship
of Jesus Christ. Then he hesitated; but only for a moment. He told her
of his sins; of those days of doubt when he yielded to the tempter's
power and how near he came to losing his soul. He could not finish it,
but strode off alone. At last he came, and, sitting down, said:

"Jane, all I am I owe to Jesus Christ. The story of his love, and what
he has been to me, is more wonderful than any story of fiction. 'More
wonderful it seems than all the golden fancies of all our golden
dreams.'"

[Illustration: View from Glacier Point.]

The twilight was deepening, the great mountains were fading away in
the distance, the evening star was just peering over the horizon as,
standing together by the iron rail that protects Table Rock--standing,
as it seemed, in the choir loft of the eternities, they sang
together--Job in his rich tenor, Jane in her sweet soprano:

"All hail the power of Jesus' name,
Let angels prostrate fall.
Bring forth the royal diadem,
And crown him Lord of all."

As the moonlight stole down from the mountain summits to the edge of
the further cliff and then plunged down to light the valley, Job and
Jane still sat and talked. Was it strange that somehow the hidden love
of long years would out that night, and, talking of life's holiest
experiences and secret longings and loftiest dreams, somehow, before
they knew it, they talked of love? Secrets locked in the heart's
deepest chambers found voice that night. The unuttered longings of the
years found language. Not as children prattle of sudden impulses, not
as Job had blushed and sim