ing of the day in which the hitherto untroubled depths of Lyle's
womanly nature were to be stirred by the mightiest of influences,
there came to her a prescience, thrilling and vibrating through her
whole being, that this day was to be the crisis, the turning point of
her life. On that day, she was to meet one whose influence upon her
own life she felt would be far greater than that of any human being
she could recall.

Lyle was not in love. As yet, she knew nothing of what love might be,
but she possessed rare depth of feeling. In her lonely, secluded life,
she had known few emotions, but those few were deep and lasting; and
when, a few months before, she had incidentally seen the photograph of
Morton Rutherford,--only one among many, all unknown to her,--it had
left an impression upon her heart and brain, never to be effaced.

His was no ordinary face; it would attract the most casual observer,
and to one gifted with Lyle's wonderful insight and perception, and
possessing her fine susceptibilities, there would be revealed such
rare strength and beauty of mind and character combined, that, once
seen, it might not be easily forgotten.

To Lyle, in her isolation, it seemed a glimpse of a kindred soul, and
she had often wondered what the living face itself might be, and what
acquaintance and friendship with such a soul might mean. She had
looked forward to his coming to the camp with mingled pleasure and
dread. She thoroughly understood the position which she held in the
estimation of the younger Mr. Rutherford; would his brother regard her
with the same half pitying, half patronizing admiration? Would her
narrow, restricted life seem so small and poor to him, with his
superior attainments, that he would altogether ignore her? Or would he
be able, like Mr. Houston and Miss Gladden, to overlook her hateful
and hated environment, and help her rise above it?

These were the questions which for the past few weeks had perplexed
and troubled her; but the revelation which had come to her on the
previous night had changed the whole current of her thought. What
matter now, how mean or debasing her surroundings, since no taint
from them could attach itself to her? What matter if her life had
been cramped and restricted, since she was soon to rise above it
into the life for which she had been created? Perhaps her natural
sphere was not, after all, so unlike that in which her friends
moved, to which even he was accustomed, the st