"My name is Captain Sherwood, of the United States army. I came over here for a little hunting and fishing," the young man said after his removal to more comfortable quarters. "I hope I have not frightened you, for I am not worth the pain I fear I have given you. Please do not be afraid of me; I will get away from here just as soon as I can move, and shall not trouble you again." "Oh, I guess I shall get over my fright. I am glad I could be of a little service. It is my duty to be kind to everybody, and especially to a brother officer of Captain Van Arden. I knew him when he was here a year ago." "My child," said the officer, with emphasis, and speaking in a serious tone, "you have saved my life, and I shall never cease to be your most humble and grateful friend, no matter where you go, or what may become of me." His dark eyes looked into her own with a soft appeal for sympathy and tolerance which was irresistible to the tender-hearted girl. "Indeed I have done but little; I have only helped you to recover from your faint from loss of blood." The young man winced at the simple, honest explanation, but sought again to impress his heartfelt gratitude upon the charming nurse he had secured. "Perhaps if some wandering 'Danite' had discovered me, in my helpless condition, instead of your gentle self, I should now indeed have no need for help or comfort in this life." "Indeed, sir, you mistake my people. They are not murderers nor cut-throats. I have heard that the 'gentiles' think that there are wicked men among us banded together to kill people, but in all my life I never saw or knew of such a band or ever saw such a being as a 'Danite.'" The officer saw he had gone a little too far, and so he turned his face away and with a sigh, he moved toward the fast-setting sun, and murmured, after a short pause: "How beautiful the effects of the parting sun-gleams are on your charming wild valley, with its glistening, turquoise lake, the snow-topped mountains, cleft and seared into gorges and canyon defiles, their uneven sides touched here and there with the deep green of the oak or the paler maple. You have a grand old castellated bulwark for the setting of your rural home." Now, all this was astounding to simple Ellen. To hear her gray, sage-covered, barren valley home described as in any way beautiful, and to know that such lovely descriptive albeit high-flown and theatrical words could be used in connection therewith, was a veritable revelation to her. But the allusion to the setting sun awakened other thoughts in her heart. Hastily rising, she sought her sun-bonnet, as she said: "I must go. It will be twilight now before I reach my home. I shall send someone down to help you and bring you to where you can be taken care of."