Then--then you aren't a robber, are you?"
Wade merely shook his head. "I heard noises, and then--when I opened the
door--and saw you standing there--." The first alarm was yielding to
curiosity. She glanced at the scarred and stained hand which grasped the
brass railing, and from there to the pleasant, eager, sunburnt face
under the upturned brim of the battered sombrero. "No, I see you're not
that," she went on reflectively. "Are you a miner?"

"No, only a prospector. We're camped up there." He tilted his head
toward the slope without moving his gaze.

"Oh," said the girl. Perhaps she found that steady, unwinking regard of
his disconcerting, for she turned her head away slightly so that her
eyes were hidden from him. But the soft profile of the young face stood
clear against the darkening sky, and Wade gazed enravished.

"You are looking for gold?" she asked.

"Yes."

"And--have you found it?"

"No."

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" There was sympathy in the voice and in the look she
turned upon him, and the boy's heart sang rapturously. Perhaps weariness
and hunger and the girl's radiant twilit beauty combined to make him
light-headed; otherwise how account for his behavior? Or perhaps
starlight as well as moonlight may affect the brain; the theory is at
least plausible. Or perhaps no excuse is needed for him save that he was
twenty-three, and a Southerner! He leaned against the railing and
laughed softly and exultantly.

"I've found no gold," he said, "but I don't care about that now. For
I've found to-night what is a thousand times better!"

"Better than--than gold!" she faltered, trying to meet his gaze. "Why,
what--"

"The girl I love!" he whispered up to her.

She gasped, and the hand on the knob began to turn slowly. Even in the
twilight he could see the swift blood staining the ivory of her cheek.
His eyes found hers and held them.

"What is your name?" he asked, softly, imperatively.

Oh, surely there is some quality, some magic power in mountain starlight
undreamed of in our philosophy, for,

"Evelyn," whispered the girl, her wide eyes on his and a strange wonder
on her face.

"Evelyn!" he echoed radiantly. "Evelyn! Evelyn what?"

"Walton," answered the girl obediently. He nodded his head and murmured
the name half aloud to his memory.

"Evelyn Walton. And you live in God's country?"

"In New York." Her breath came fast and one hand crept to her breast
where the flowers drooped.

"I'll remember,