“Bess,” he began more calmly, “I dare not tell myself how happy you have made me. To think that you are really mine—mine! To know that I may take you away from here, this dreadful country with its sordid conditions, its Indians. To feel that you have given me the right to place you in a realm where you may be the queen that you are!” Taking her gently by the hand he led her to a seat and then began telling her his plans. He said that no preparations need be made as to trousseau, as everything could be procured after they had reached New York, as she objected to being married so soon. Rather reluctantly he consented to her wish to be married here at _HW_ ranch and by Father Damien of St. Ignatius Mission. It should be very quiet with no guests present. “I shall have a bridesmaid, however,” said Bess. “I have just received word that my dearest friend will be here tomorrow—Berenice Morton.” “Mor—ton—did you say—Morton?” asked Mr. Davis, in a strange voice. “Have I never told you of her?” added Bess, apparently unnoticing any embarrassment. “We were at the convent school together, and just the greatest of chums! I have not seen her since then, and now I can scarcely wait until she arrives. She wrote me that her visit could be only three weeks, but I am sure that she can be prevailed upon to be my bridesmaid, and then she could return with me—with us—as far as New York. Where is her home, did you ask? She, with her father and an invalid sister, have been spending the past few months in the mountains in New Hampshire. I do not know whether they will return to their home near Boston or not. You see—so many—many heartaches were—” Bess could not finish her sentence. The swift rush of tears choked her voice as the flood of memory swept over her. Twice did Mr. Davis attempt to speak before he felt he had assumed control of his voice. It was not pity, nor sympathy, however, which stirred his soul. It was fear—fear lest she should detect his confusion; fear lest her friend should prove to be the same girl whom he had met only once before—five years before. But then, if she were the same, he had changed so greatly that surely she would not remember him. An invalid sister! Could it be possible that after all she—_she_—was still living! Surely, she had died—he was positive! Perhaps there had been a third sister—there must have been; still ... “What are you thinking of so seriously?” asked Bess, as his prolonged silence made her turn from the window. “I was thinking, my dear, of how—of what I have to tell you. I have received word from Washington to come there at once. Undoubtedly it is business concerning my—resignation, which I recently submitted. I fear it may keep me from you for several weeks, and that my return may be impossible before the tenth of October.”