Morton Rutherford gave his friend a glowing account of his journey through the west, dwelling at considerable length on his enjoyment of the scenic routes. As they wound upward through the canyon, he grew ecstatic over the wild beauty and rugged grandeur extending in every direction, and when they finally drew rein before the long, low boarding house, nestling at the foot of the mountain, with its rustic, vine-covered porch, and surrounded on all sides by the wild scenery of that region, his admiration knew no bounds.
“What a delightful retreat!” he exclaimed, “what a study for an artist!”
Within the porch, among the vines, the ladies awaited their coming, and Lyle, looking forth from her shady retreat, saw the face whose image had been imprinted on heart and brain, and at a glance she read all she had expected to find, and more. There were the fine features, expressing such depth and power, and yet such delicacy of thought and feeling, the intellectual brow, the dark, expressive eyes, all as she had seen them in the picture; but what picture could convey the living beauty of the whole? It was the face of one whom women would worship, and men would follow even to death.
The gentlemen approached the house, Houston and his friend leading the way. Miss Gladden advanced to meet them, and as Houston introduced Mr. Rutherford, she extended to him a most gracious and graceful welcome, and also to Ned. Her gown was white, of soft, clinging material, trimmed with quantities of rich, rare lace, and brightened here and there with touches of crimson and gold. She wore a few costly jewels, and the diamond hilt of a tiny dagger glistened and scintillated in her auburn-tinted hair. She looked very beautiful, and as Mr. Rutherford paused to respond to her welcome with a few courteous words, he thought his friend was surely to be congratulated on the prize he had won.
Meanwhile, Ned had discovered Lyle, as she stood partially hidden among the vines, awaiting her turn, and hastened to greet her in his impetuous fashion.
“How do you do, Miss Maverick? I’m awfully glad to see you. I want you to know my brother,” and his cheerful voice sounded on his brother’s ear, as he replied to some remark of Miss Gladden’s.
“Morton, I want to introduce you to our nightingale; Miss Maverick, allow me to make you acquainted with my brother.”
With a rare smile lighting up his face, Morton Rutherford turned toward the speaker, and as he did so, saw a vision of the most royal young womanhood his eyes had ever beheld. She, too, was dressed in white, but it was a filmy, cloud-like mass, with trimmings of ethereal blue. She wore no jewels, but a crown of golden hair gleamed like a coronet above her head, and her delicately molded face had a spirituelle beauty and radiance unlike any living face he had ever seen, and which he could only compare to the exquisite Madonna faces, painted by artists of the old world, and of the olden time.
And Lyle, coming forward with unconscious, queenly grace, looked for an instant into that face whose subtle power she already felt, her wondrous, starry eyes, luminous with a new, strange light, meeting his with their depth of meaning, their powerful magnetism, and from that brief instant, life for each was changed, wholly and completely; whether for good or ill, for weal or woe, neither as yet could say.