What glorious, happy days followed! September, with its soft, warm days, each filled with delightful rides and excursions, had given place to opalescent October, that wonderful month with its brilliant colorings, its ever-changing skies and glorious sunsets. Indian summer lingered on, day after day, and the fervent sunshine made it difficult to realize that soon flaky snow would be falling, covering each nude limb and rock with a winter blanket. Bess Fletcher had managed during the interim to complete her wedding gown—simple white and severely plain. She had been unusually light-hearted and merry; still, several times when alone, as she thought how rapidly the day of her wedding was approaching, a spasm of pain had seized her, which fairly made her sick. It was a strange sensation which she could not define; and hoping that she would soon overcome it, did not mention it to Mrs. West nor to her friend. Every day brought ardent letters, and sometimes Berenice wondered how Bess could wait so long before reading them. But, most of all, Henry West’s mother marveled at her son’s changed manner. He entered heartily into all the fun, and even neglected a number of affairs about the ranch to accompany the other three upon some of their long rides. His laugh was frequent and his jesting talk unceasing. Often Bess gazed at him in amazement and tried to solve his strange, new mood. She felt like restraining him sometimes when his merriment seemed almost undignified, and beg of him to be his former self—quiet, calm, or even cold. Once she came upon him quite unawares in the library. He was seated at the table, his arms thrown out upon it, with his face buried in them. He did not hear her enter, and as she touched his arm he sprang suddenly from his seat, overturning the chair. For an instant his face held its expression of misery, then suddenly he burst into a loud, grating laugh. Bess was dumb with bewilderment at his peculiar action. “Henry—what is the matter? I hate you when you are so unlike yourself! You have been positively horrid for more than a week! Do tell me if you are ill, or what I may do to make you behave!” she stormed at him, her eyes flashing with anger and bright spots burning upon each cheek. Suddenly West checked his laugh and passed his hand against his brow as if to stop its pain. He moistened his parched lips and drew deep, long breaths, while glowing, intense eyes pierced the girl’s very soul. “Bess—Bess, I’m sorry. Must be I’m not well,” he hesitated, as if to catch his breath. Becoming alarmed, Bess started for the door in search of Mrs. West. “Stop, Bess—do not go—I need nothing. There is something—something—I have wanted to tell you—so long ago—something—” he sank into a chair unnerved. The girl walked softly to his side and placed her hand upon his own. He clutched it with a cruel grasp, then said: “Please go over there—I cannot talk—if you are so near me!”