It was indeed a glorious scene—that noble sweep of verdured plain, stretching north far as the eye could reach, on the south guarded by the rugged pass, east and west embosoming hills twenty miles apart etching the sky with peaks and domes and lines of beauty. For a few moments all three visitors to the tower remained silent and enraptured.
Grace was the one to break the spell.
“I’m going down now to the library to inspect your work, lieutenant,” she announced with a roguish smile.
“Spare me,” protested Munson. “But perhaps you would help me with some of those Spanish books,” he added as an afterthought.
“Delighted! Come along.” And she led the way down the winding iron staircase.
In the library the three were for the first time during the visit quite alone. Munson carefully closed the door.
“Now I’ve got the chance, Miss Merle,” he began, “I want to compliment you on your splendid bravery last night.”
“Bravery!” she laughed. “Why I was so scared I could hardly stand.”
“Well, you deceived us all finely, then.”
“And that Ben Thurston—what an old ruffian!” cried Grace. “But I agree with you, Mr. Munson; Merle was a hero.”