John Armstrong and Mlle.Giraud rode among the Andean peaks， enveloped in their greatness and sublimity.
The mightiest cousins， furthest removed， in nature's great family become conscious of the tie.Among those huge piles of primordial upheaval， amid those gigantic silences and elongated fields of distance the littlenesses of men are precipitated as one chemical throws down a sediment from another.They moved reverently， as in a temple.Their souls were uplifted in unison with the stately heights.They travelled in a zone of majesty and peace.
To Armstrong the woman seemed almost a holy thing.
Yet bathed in the white， still dignity of her martyrdom that purified her earthly beauty and gave out， it seemed， an aura of transcendent loveliness， in those first hours of companionship she drew from him an adoration that was half human love， half the worship of a descended goddess.
Never yet since her rescue had she smiled.Over her dress she still wore the robe of leopard skins， for mountain air was cold.She looked to be some splendid princess belonging to those wild and awesome altitudes.
The spirit of the region chimed with hers.Her eyes were always turned upon the sombre cliffs， the blue gorges and the snow-clad turrets， looking a sublime melancholy equal to their own.At times on the journey she sang thrilling te deums and misereres that struck the true note of the hills， and made their route seem like a solemn march down a cathedral aisle.The rescued one spoke but seldom， her mood partaking of the hush of nature that surrounded them.Armstrong looked upon her as an angel.He could not bring himself to the sacrilege of attempting to woo her as other women may be wooed.
On the third day they had descended as far as the tierra templada， the zona of the table lands and foot hills.
The mountains were receding in their rear， but still towered， exhibiting yet impressively their formidable heads.Here they met signs of man.They saw the white houses of coffee plantations gleam across the clear-ings.They struck into a road where they met travellers and pack-mules.Cattle were grazing on the slopes.
They passed a little village where the round-eyed ni駉s shrieked and called at sight of them.
Mlle.Giraud laid aside her leopard-skin robe.It seemed to be a trifle incongruous now.In the moun-tains it had appeared fitting and natural.And if Arm-strong was not mistaken she laid aside with it something of the high dignity of her demeanour.As the country became more populous and significant of comfortable life he saw， with a feeling of joy， that the exalted princess and priestess of the Andean peaks was changing to a woman -- an earth woman but no less enticing.Alittle colour crept to the surface of her marble cheek.
She arranged the conventional dress that the removal of the robe now disclosed with the solicitous touch of one who is conscious of the eyes of others.She smoothed the careless sweep of her hair.A mundane interest， long latent in the chilling atmosphere of the ascetic peaks， showed in her eyes.
This thaw in his divinity sent Armstrong's heart going faster.So might an Arctic explorer thrill at his first ken of green fields and liquescent waters.They were on a lower plane of earth and life and were succumbing to its peculiar， subtle influence.The austerity of the hills no longer thinned the air they breathed.About them was the breath of fruit and corn and builded homes， the comfortable smell of smoke and warm earth and the consolations man has placed between himself and the dust of his brother earth from which he sprung.While traversing those awful mountains， Mile.Giraud had seemed to be wrapped in their spirit of reverent reserve.
Was this that same woman -- now palpitating， warm， eager， throbbing with conscious life and charm， feminine to her finger-tips？ Pondering over this， Armstrong felt certain misgivings intrude upon his thoughts.He wished he could stop there with this changing creature， descending no farther.Here was the elevation and environment to which her nature seemed to respond with its best.He feared to go down upon the man-dominated levels.Would her spirit -not yield still further in that artificial zone to which they were descending？
Now from a little plateau they saw the sea flash at the edge of the green lowlands.Mile.Giraud gave a little， catching sigh.
"Oh！ look， Mr.Armstrong， there is the sea！ Isn't it lovely？ I'm so tired of mountains." She heaved a pretty shoulder in a gesture of repugnance."Those horrid Indians！ Just think of what I suffered！ Although I suppose I attained my ambition of becoming a stellar attraction， I wouldn't care to repeat the engagement.It was very nice of you to bring me away.Tell me， Mr.
Armstrong -- honestly， now -- do I look such an awful， awful fright？ I haven't looked into a mirror， you know， for months."Armstrong made answer according to his changed moods.Also he laid his hand upon hers as it rested upon the horn of her saddle.Luis was at the head of the pack train and could not see.She allowed it to remain there， and her eyes smiled frankly into his.
Then at sundown they dropped upon the coast level under the palms and lemons among the vivid greens and searlets and ochres of the tierra caliente.They rode into Macuto， and saw the line of volatile bathers frolick-ing in the surf.The mountains were very far away.
Mlle.Giraud's eyes were shining with a joy that could not have existed under the chaperonage of the mountain-tops.There were other spirits calling to her -- nymphs of the orange groves， pixies from the chattering surf， imps， born of the music， the perfumes， colours and the insinuating presence of humanity.She laughed aloud， musically， at a sudden thought.
"Won't there be a sensation？" she called to Armstrong.
"Don't I wish I had an engagement just now， though！
