One morning, about a week after her arrival, Millicent was awakened by the sharp sound of a horse’s hoofs clattering down the stony road which led to the orchard from the hill behind the house. She sprang up, and throwing wide the shutters, looked out to see whence the sound came. It was still very early. The sun had not yet clambered over the tops of the high hills; but the sky was bright, and the shadows lay like a misty garment over the happy valley, locked in its circle of hills. The great bull Jupiter, the terror of the Ranch, stood near the house, sniffing the cool morning air, and giving thunderous snorts of pleasure. The bars had been left down, and he had gained access to the green orchard, forbidden ground to him. The hedge of roses was hung with a wondrous garlanding of dewdrops, and the dark-red lilies were just awakening to the draught which the night winds had distilled in their chalices. From every blade of grass and leaf of clover sparkled a diamond. The fair valley had arrayed itself in jewels and fragance for another day of light and love. The sound of the horse’s hoofs grew nearer; and as Millicent looked expectantly along the bridle-path that descends from the mountain, there came into sight, parting the wet boughs of the fruit trees, a horseman mounted on a gray mustang. The rider was a strong man, who sat his steed with the air of one to the manner born. He was dressed in corduroy breeches, high top-boots, and flannel shirt. He had no hat. In his belt shone a long hunting knife, and over his shoulder was slung a rifle. Before him on the saddle lay a stag whose heavy antlers hardly cleared the ground. The first rays of the sun, just peeping over the hill-tops, touched his thick brown hair, giving it a glint of bronze, shone on the wide white forehead, flashed into the eyes, and showed her for an instant a stern profile, exceedingly beautiful. Then she lost his face as he turned the corner of the piazza. Here he dismounted, and lifting the deer from the horse laid it on the grass. Perhaps the beauty of the dead creature struck a chord of remorse in the breast of the hunter, for he gave a sigh and turned it so that a gaping wound in the neck was not visible. Then drawing a pencil and a bit of paper from his pocket, he wrote something, and fastening the billet to the horns of the deer, he mounted his horse, and giving him the rein returned slowly by the same road. As he drew near again Millicent saw that the mustache which hid the upper lip was golden-brown, that the throat was white and shapely, that the mouth smiled not untenderly, while the eyes smiled not at all. These details were noted with an artist’s love of beauty: and as she watched him out of sight, she wondered with all a woman’s curiosity who he might be.