ention of Parkinson were now temporarily cut
short by the appearance of the "double-header" rounding a curve and
rapidly approaching--a welcome sight, for the heat and blinding glare of
light were becoming intolerable.

Only for a moment the ponderous engines paused, panting and quivering
like two living, sentient monsters; the next, with heavy, labored
breath, as though summoning all their energies for the task before them,
they were slowly ascending the steadily increasing grade, moment by
moment with accelerated speed plunging into the very heart of the
mountains, bearing John Darrell, as he was to be henceforth known, to a
destiny of which he had little thought, but which he himself had,
unconsciously, helped to weave.

An hour later, on returning to the sleeper after an unsuccessful attempt
at dining, Darrell sank into his seat, and, leaning wearily back,
watched with half-closed eyes the rapidly changing scenes through which
he was passing, for the time utterly oblivious to his surroundings.
Gigantic rocks, grotesque in form and color, flashed past; towering
peaks loomed suddenly before him, advancing, receding, disappearing, and
reappearing with the swift windings and doublings of the train; massive
walls of granite pressed close and closer, seeming for one instant a
threatening, impenetrable barrier, the next, opening to reveal glimpses
of distant billowy ranges, their summits white with perpetual snow. The
train had now reached a higher altitude, and breezes redolent of pine
and fir fanned his throbbing brow, their fragrance thronging his mind
with memories of other and far-distant scenes, until gradually the bold
outlines of cliff and crag grew dim, and in their place appeared a cool,
dark forest through which flecks of golden sunlight sifted down upon the
moss-grown, flower-strewn earth; a stream singing beneath the pines,
then rippling onward through meadows of waving green; a wide-spreading
house of colonial build half hidden by giant trees and clinging
rose-vines, and, framed among the roses, a face, strong, tender, sweet,
crowned with silvered hair--one of the few which sorrow makes
beautiful--which came nearer and nearer, bending over him with a
mother's blessing; and then he slept.

The face of the sleeper, with its clear-cut, well-moulded features,
formed a pleasing study, reminding one of a bit of unfinished carving,
the strong, bold lines of which reveal the noble design of the
sculptor--the thing