He pondered a moment, still half-thinking of the poem he had just finished, half-reflecting on the strange events of the past week--the secret ways, by swift auto, by boat, by monoplane which had brought him hither to this still undiscovered refuge. How had it all been arranged, he wondered; and who had made it possible? He could not tell, as yet. No information was forthcoming. But in his heart he understood, and his lips, murmuring the name of Catherine, blessed that name and tenderly revered it. At last Gabriel bent, picked up the pages that had fallen, and arranged them all in order. "Tomorrow this shall go out to the world," said he, "and to our press--such of it as still remains. It may inspire some fainting heart and thrill some lagging mind. Now, that the final struggle is at hand, more than guns we need inspiration. More than force, to meet the force that has ravished our every right and crushed Constitution and Law, alike, we need spiritual insight and integrity. Only through these, and by these, come what may, can a true, lasting victory be attained!" In the doorway of the bungalow a woman appeared, her smile illumined by the sunset warmth. "Come, Gabriel," said she. "We're waiting--the Granthams, Craig, and Brevard. Supper's ready. Not one of them will sit down, till you come." "Have I been delaying you?" asked Gabriel, turning toward the woman, with a smile that matched her own. "I'm afraid so, just a little," she answered. "But no matter; I'm glad. When you get to writing, you know, nothing else matters. One line of your verse is worth all the suppers in the world." "Nonsense!" he retorted. "I'm a mere scribbler!" "We won't argue that point," she answered. "But at any rate, you're done, now. So come along, boy--or the comrades will begin 'dividing up' without us; for this mountain air won't brook delay." Gabriel took a long breath, stretched his powerful arms out toward the mountains, and raised his face to the last light of day. "Nature!" he whispered. "Ever beautiful and ever young! Ah, could man but learn thy lessons and live close to thy great heart!" Then, turning, he followed Catherine into the bungalow. Beautiful and restful though the outside was, the interior was more restful and more charming still. In the vast fireplace, to left, a fire of pine roots was crackling. The room was filled with their pitchy, wholesome perfume, with the dancing light of their blaze and with the warmth made grateful by that mountain height.