"No, he is nearer Denver. He went to Denver a month ago, about the sale of some mining property, and in his last letter he told me he had bought a shooting lodge south of Denver, from an English gentleman who was returning to England, and that he intended to spend the summer there. Through his agent in Denver we can find out the precise location." Then he spoke hopefully to her of God's love, and of her husband's love, but she was exceedingly depressed and sorrowful; and though she drank her tea, she made it bitter with tears. For she could not rid herself of that vision of her angel, hovering so tired and hopeless, on the verge of a limit beyond her holy care. "Oh, father!" she cried, "if I could only once more know that my head was covered with her white wings! If the dear and great angel would only let me feel her guarding me--me, out of all the world! I used to know something about my Guardian Angel, but I had forgotten it for many years, until this very moment. Just as I spoke to you, the last lines flashed into my mind, as if all their letters were made of light. Listen: 'Thou bird of God! And wilt thou bend me low, And lay my hands together, And lift them up to pray, and gently tether Me, as thy lamb there, with thy garments spread?'" So, with many tears and sad reflections, she drank a little tea; and then Peter induced her to sleep an hour, because the journey would be long and hard for her. But every mile of it was a tonic, and when she reached the high tableland of Colorado, the color came back to her cheeks, and she was able to eat and sleep, and in some ways enjoy the travel. Peter watched over her with a father's care; nay, it was more like a mother's never-wearying anxiety for her welfare and happiness; and when Denver was reached, both were full of hope, and cheerful in their hope. Here Peter would have delayed a few days; but Rose was eager to go forward, and the next morning they were on the Southern Line, and feeling that a few hours more would bring them face to face with Antony. It was mid-afternoon when they reached the small station at which they were to alight, and Antony's lodge was about half a mile up the mountain. Trees hid it from view, but the mailman walked with them to the timber, and showed Peter the trail through it, which would lead them directly to Mr. Van Hoosen's door. During this walk Rose became very silent, and one not in sympathy with her would have thought her cross. But Peter knew that all the issues of her life had come to this one point; and he felt keenly for her. Rose looked frequently into his face, and she held his hand tightly; but she was really incapable of speech. Indeed, she was incapable of thought. All her nature was absorbed by feeling.