t last they reached the cascades, and rounding a little promontory,
the glory of that wondrous scene suddenly burst upon them. For a
moment Mr. Rutherford sat speechless, and Lyle, facing him, silently
enjoyed his surprise and his ecstasy as keenly as he enjoyed the
wonderful beauty about him. In his face, she read the same capacity
for joy or for suffering which Nature had bestowed upon herself, and
when his eyes suddenly met hers again, he saw the tears glistening in
their shining depths, and with quick, intuitive sympathy, readily
understood the cause.

For a while they rowed back and forth in almost silent admiration;
then the boats were brought side by side at the foot of the cascades,
and the air resounded with song; sometimes their voices all blending
together in exquisite harmony, then in twos and threes, while
occasionally, some beautiful old song would be given as a solo.

It had been an evening of rare enjoyment for each one, and they were
just about to turn their boats homeward, when Ned Rutherford
exclaimed:

"I say, don't let us leave this spot until Miss Maverick sings that
song she gave us the first time we came out here, the first we ever
heard her sing. I never can forget that song, and it is always
associated with this place."

The others joined in the request. Lyle hesitated. Could she trust
herself to sing that song to-night? It was easy to sing when love had
come to another's heart, but could she sing it now that he had come to
her own?

She consented, and the oars rested once more. With her eyes fixed on
the distant mountains, Lyle began her song:

"Love is come with a song and a smile."

At the first words, Morton Rutherford started, and as he fixed his
eyes on the beautiful singer, her fair form and shining hair outlined
against the silvery cascades, it seemed to him the loveliest sight of
his whole life.

Her voice, exquisitely sweet as she began, gained in expression and
power, until she sang as she had never sung before; and as the last
notes died away, Houston, bending his head low, whispered to Miss
Gladden:

"Leslie, my dear, do you think now that Lyle's heart is not
susceptible? She never could sing that song in that way if she knew
nothing of love."

And Miss Gladden made no reply, for her own heart was too full for
words.

The song was ended, and Lyle's eyes suddenly met the dark ones fixed
upon her face, and though no words were spoken, she read in their