"Well," said Morgan, as he rose slowly, "don't think I don't appreciate your kindness, for I do. You've heard me say that I didn't believe in honor in anybody; I guess I'll have to take that back, for if there is such a thing as honor, you've got it. I don't know how it is," he said, with a heavy sigh, then added slowly, "I guess you've been raised different somehow, from most of us out here. The Lord knows how I was raised." He started a few steps down the road, hesitated, and came back. "Houston, there's one thing I want to say to you, for you've been good to me, that's this; look out for Haight; he's no friend of yours, and I guess you're sharp enough to know it, but maybe you don't know what a sneaking, cowardly cur he is; look out for him!" "Thank you, Morgan, I will." "He ain't like me," he continued, "if I don't like anybody I let 'em know it, and fight 'em fair and square; you can tell that by the way I bucked up against you, when you first came here," and he smiled at the recollection, the first time he had smiled in the whole conversation. "Morgan," said Houston, "I've been sorry for that a good many times since; if I had known about you then what you have since told me, I never would have been so severe in my judgment of you." "Oh, that was all right," he answered, "it did me good; I didn't like you very well at first, but I've always had a liking for you ever since. Well, so long!" and with a faint smile, Morgan went on his way. Houston stood watching him for a few moments, then turned back in the direction of the house, little thinking how, or where, they would meet again. CHAPTER XXXI. The next morning dawned fair and cloudless, giving promise of one of those royal days, so frequent in the almost perfect climate of the higher altitudes. Long before noon the heat would be intense, but in the early morning there was wafted down from the mountain side, where the pines were nodding and whispering so mysteriously, a cool, exhilarating breeze, which kissed the surface of the azure lake, sleeping so peacefully, and, awakening immediately into smiles, it lay rippling and dimpling with laughter in the sunlight. The vines, transplanted by Miss Gladden and Lyle, under their fostering care, had transformed the little porch into a bower of beauty. Here stood Van Dorn, his fair, almost feminine face flushed with pleasure, and his blue eyes sparkling, as the light breeze played with the auburn curls clustering about his forehead, and he looked forth on the beauty of the scene. "Ah--h!" he exclaimed, drawing a long breath, "isn't this refreshing after the stifling heat and dust of the journey out here? Isn't it glorious?" "It is," responded Houston, "this is one of the mornings when it is a joy just simply to live and breathe."