There were saddled horses in the courtyard, but no riders. A Mexican boy sat on the porch bench, in the seat where Dale remembered he had encountered Al Auchincloss. The door of the big sitting-room was open. The scent of flowers, the murmur of bees, the pounding of hoofs came vaguely to Dale. His eyes dimmed, so that the ground, when he slid out of his saddle, seemed far below him. He stepped upon the porch. His sight suddenly cleared. A tight fullness at his throat made incoherent the words he said to the Mexican boy. But they were understood, as the boy ran back around the house. Dale knocked sharply and stepped over the threshold. Outside, John, true to his habits, was thinking, even in that moment of suspense, about the faithful, exhausted horses. As he unsaddled them he talked: “Fer soft an' fat hosses, winterin' high up, wal, you've done somethin'!” Then Dale heard a voice in another room, a step, a creak of the door. It opened. A woman in white appeared. He recognized Helen. But instead of the rich brown bloom and dark-eyed beauty so hauntingly limned on his memory, he saw a white, beautiful face, strained and quivering in anguish, and eyes that pierced his heart. He could not speak. “Oh! my friend--you've come!” she whispered. Dale put out a shaking hand. But she did not see it. She clutched his shoulders, as if to feel whether or not he was real, and then her arms went up round his neck. “Oh, thank God! I knew you would come!” she said, and her head sank to his shoulder. Dale divined what he had suspected. Helen's sister had been carried off. Yet, while his quick mind grasped Helen's broken spirit--the unbalance that was reason for this marvelous and glorious act--he did not take other meaning of the embrace to himself. He just stood there, transported, charged like a tree struck by lightning, making sure with all his keen senses, so that he could feel forever, how she was clinging round his neck, her face over his bursting heart, her quivering form close pressed to his. “It's--Bo,” he said, unsteadily. “She went riding yesterday--and--never--came--back!” replied Helen, brokenly. “I've seen her trail. She's been taken into the woods. I'll find her. I'll fetch her back,” he replied, rapidly. With a shock she seemed to absorb his meaning. With another shock she raised her face--leaned back a little to look at him. “You'll find her--fetch her back?” “Yes,” he answered, instantly. With that ringing word it seemed to Dale she realized how she was standing. He felt her shake as she dropped her arms and stepped back, while the white anguish of her face was flooded out by a wave of scarlet. But she was brave in her confusion. Her eyes never fell, though they changed swiftly, darkening with shame, amaze, and with feelings he could not read. “I'm almost--out of my head,” she faltered. “No wonder. I saw that.... But now you must get clear-headed. I've no time to lose.” He led her to the door.