self. He makes me think of it, and—and—" she went on shyly, "you do, too."
By this time Lady Charlotte was kneeling by the couch, smoothing the beautiful hair and gently touching the face so pale and lined with pain.
"That is a great honor, truly," she said brightly through her tears—"to be like your canyon and like your Pilot, too."
Gwen nodded, but she was not to be denied.
"Tell me how it looks to-day," she said. "I want to see it. Oh, I want to see it!"
Lady Charlotte was greatly moved by the yearning in the voice, but, controlling herself, she said gaily:
"Oh, I can't show it to you as your Pilot can, but I'll tell you what I saw."
"Turn me where I can see," said Gwen to me, and I wheeled her toward the window and raised her up so that she could look down the trail toward the canyon's mouth.
"Now," she said, after the pain of the lifting had passed, "tell me, please."
Then Lady Charlotte set the canyon before her in rich and radiant coloring, while Gwen listened, gazing down upon the trail to where the elm tops could be seen, rusty and sere.
