“You look kind o’ pale. I don’t believe you slept real good.” “What does it matter?” Rosalie held her friend with wistful, glowing eyes. “Why should one lose the consciousness of happiness even for ten minutes?” There was a little contraction of Betsy’s heart. So young a creature to be economical of happiness; but the intensity of the girl’s eyes disturbed her. “Now you mustn’t get so wrought up over things, Rosalie. Make it a rule to be mejum in everything. I always have, and I find it the best way.” A low laugh escaped the girl as she met the kind gaze. Had Betsy ever stood in the midst of roaring immensity, an atom in the whirl of colossal, dreadful beauty, and fallen from dire panic into the close embrace of safety, with the beat of a kingly heart upon hers? Poor Betsy! Poor everybody in the wide universe except Rosalie Vincent! The good woman went on talking, and the girl heard not a word. She was back beneath the pines watching the eagles at their nest, in a rainbow chasm. “Gracious, child!” said Betsy at last, laughing and pulling the suit-case out of Rosalie’s hands. “You look like a sleep-walker; let me put those things in there. And now you stay right here until I come back and tell you when to come downstairs. What have you got to keep you warm? It’ll be cold stagin’ to-day.” “I had a sweater,” said Rosalie absently. “I lost it somewhere in the canyon.” “In the canyon?” repeated Betsy mechanically. Then she repeated the words explosively. “What do you mean, Rosalie Vincent? Have you been out there this mornin’?” Rosalie looked the picture of detected guilt. “Well I guess you _are_ a genius! You’re as crazy as the best of ’em.” “You wouldn’t have had me leave this place without seeing it?” said the girl. Betsy bit her lip. “Well, I guess that’s about so,” she said. “It _would_ seem cruelty; but you see Mr. Derwent thought you’d better be ahead of us, and he and I both know, if anybody does, what it is to stir up a strife o’ tongues! And I s’pose in the hurried arrangement everything sort o’ slipped into insignificance compared to smugglin’ you out o’ the Park.” Betsy’s tone had turned from accusation to apology. “So you really have seen the canyon,” she added, pausing, and regarding the pale face. “I saw the sunrise there,” returned Rosalie. “My stars!” ejaculated Betsy. “If I could see that, seems if I wouldn’t care if I never saw another sight in this world.” “I don’t,” returned Rosalie quietly; and the blue gaze went far beyond Betsy’s sallow, wondering countenance. “I was born again in the canyon.” Her look startled Betsy. “Be mejum, Rosalie,” she said. “You’ll wear yourself out if you feel too much. Be mejum. It’s a splendid rule.” It came about that Mr. Derwent effected his protégée’s departure without disturbance.