The evening was still and cool, for the chill of the snow made itself felt once the sunlight faded from the valley. Now and then a sound came up faintly from the mine, but that was not often, and a great quietness reigned among the pines, which towered above him, two hundred feet to their topmost sprays, in serried ranks. They were old long before the white man first entered that wild mountain land, while, as he lay there in the scented dimness among their wide-girthed trunks, all that concerned the Canopus and its pounding stamp-heads slipped away from him. He was worn out in body, but his mind was clear and free, and, lying still, unlighted pipe in hand, he gave his fancy the rein, and, forgetting Devine and the flume, dreamed of what had once been his, and might, if he could make his purpose good, be his again. The sordid details of the struggle he had embarked upon faded from his memory, for the cold silence of the mountains seemed to banish them. It gave him courage and tranquillity, and, for the time at least, nothing seemed unattainable, while through all his wandering fancies moved a vision of a girl in a long white dress, who looked down upon him fearlessly from a plunging pony's back. That was the recollection he cherished most, though he had also seen her with diamonds gleaming in her dusky hair in the Vancouver opera-house. Then he started, and a little thrill ran through him as he wondered whether it was a trick his eyes had played him or he saw her in the flesh. She stood close beside him, with a grey cedar trunk behind her, in a long trailing dress, but the white hat was in her hand now, and the little shapely head bared to the cooling touch of the dew. Still, she had materialized so silently out of the shadows that he almost felt afraid to move lest she should melt into them again, and he lay very still, watching her until she glanced at him. Then he sprang, awkwardly, to his feet, with a little smile. "I would scarcely venture to tell you what I thought you were, but it is in one respect consoling to find you real," he said. "Why?" said the girl. "Because you are not likely to vanish again. You must remember that I first saw you clothed in white samite, with the moon behind your shoulder, in the river." The girl laughed. "I wonder if you know what white samite is?" "I don't," said Brooke, reflectively. "I never did, but it seems to go with water lapping on the rocks and mystery. Still, you--are--material, fortunately." "Very," said Barbara. "Besides, I certainly did not bring you a sword." Brooke appeared to consider. "One can never be quite certain of anything--especially in British Columbia. But how did you come here?" The girl favored him with a comprehensive glance, which Brooke felt took in his well-worn jean, coarse blue shirt, badly-rent jacket, and shapeless hat. "I was about to ask you the same thing. It was in Vancouver I saw you last," she said.