He opened his eyes and looked wonderingly up at the dark pines that clothed the mountainsides. His lips moved and she heard her name; "Sibyl, Sibyl."
She leaned forward, eagerly, her cheeks glowing with color. "Yes, Mr. King."
"Am I dreaming, again?" he said slowly, gazing at her as though struggling to command his senses.
"No, Mr. King," she answered cheerily, "you are not dreaming."
Carefully, as one striving to follow a thread of thought in a bewildering tangle of events, he went over the hours just past. "I was up on that peak where you and I ate lunch the day you tried to make me see the Golden State Limited coming down from the pass. Brian Oakley sent me there to watch for buzzards." For a moment he turned away his face, then continued, "I saw flashes of light in Fairlands and on Granite Peak. I left a note for Brian and came over the range. I spent one night on the way. I found tracks on the peak. There were two, a man and a woman. I followed them to a ledge of rock at the head of a canyon," he paused. Thus far the thread of his thought was clear. "Did some one stop me? Was there--was there a fight? Or is that part of my dream?"
"No," she said softly, "that is not part of your dream."
"And it was James Rutlidge who stopped me, as I was going to you?"
"Yes."
"Then where--" with quick energy he sat up and grasped her arm--"My God! Sibyl--Miss Andrés, did I, did I--" He could not finish the sentence, but sank back, overcome with emotion.
The girl spoke quickly, with a clear, insistent voice that rallied his mind and forced him to command himself.