Esther stood a moment, watching the easy, graceful stride of the young engineer. His words then, and long afterwards, rang in her ears,--"Help us to make something of our lives yet." And as the words echoed in her heart, a voice aged and full of tender love, came to her like an old refrain,--"Go, my child, the Lord hath need of thee." She lifted her face and looked into the sky. Suddenly she became conscious of the beauty of the hour. The violet light of evening played about her face and form. She forgot the flowers in her arms, forgot the sunset, and stood absorbed in prayer. CHAPTER V THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN BALL It was the day of the ball. Parties of mountaineers, some on horseback, some in wagons, started for Jamison Ranch. In the early evening, a wagon load made up of the members of the Clayton household, Kenneth Hastings and some Scotch neighbors, started for the same destination. The road skirted the foothills for some distance, then followed the canyon several miles; and then, branching off, led directly to Jamison Ranch. As the twilight deepened into night, Nature took on a solemn and mysterious beauty. The rugged outline of the mountains, the valley and river below,--were all idealized in the softening light. The New England girl sat drinking in the wonder of it all. The mountains were speaking to her good tidings of great joy. In the midst of merry chatter, some one called out: "Sing us a song, Miss Bright." It was Kenneth Hastings. Hearing her name, she roused from her reverie. "A song?" "Yes, do sing," urged several. "Sing 'Oft in the Stilly Night,'" suggested Mrs. Clayton. "All sing with me," responded Esther. Then out on the stillness floated the beautiful old Irish song. Other voices joined Esther's. Kenneth Hastings was one of the singers. His voice blended with hers and enriched it. Song after song followed, all the company participating to some extent in the singing. Was it the majesty of the mountain scenery that inspired Esther, that sent such a thrill of gladness into her voice? Or was it perhaps the witchery of the moonlight? Whatever may have been the cause, a new quality appeared in her voice, and stirred the hearts of all who listened to her singing; it was deep and beautiful. What wonder if Kenneth Hastings came under the spell of the song and the singer? The New England girl was a breath of summer in the hard and wintry coldness of his life. "Who taught you to sing?" he asked abruptly. "The birds," she answered, in a joyous, laughing tone. "I can well believe that," he continued, "but who were your other instructors?" Then, in brief, she told him of her musical training. Would she sing one of his favorite arias some day? naming the aria. She hummed a snatch of it. "Go on," he urged. "Not now; some other time." "Won't you give us an evening recital soon?" asked John Clayton. And then and there the concert was arranged for.