She did not see him for a space, and he
watched her as she ran out her glowing tresses under the strokes of his
brush.
And once--ages ago it seemed to him now--he had thought that another
woman was beautiful, and that another woman's glory was her hair! He
felt his heart singing. She had not been like this. No. Worlds separated
those two--that woman and this God-crowned little mountain flower who
had come into his heart like the breath of a new life, opening for him
new visions that reached even beyond the blue skies. And he wondered
that she should love him. She looked up suddenly and saw him standing
there. Love? Had he in all his life dreamed of the look that was in her
face now? It made his heart choke him. He held open his arms, silently,
as she rose to her feet, and she came to him in all that burnished glory
of her unbound hair; and he held her close in his arms, kissing her soft
lips, her flushed cheeks, her blue eyes, the warm sweetness of her hair.
And her lips kissed him. He looked out over the valley. His eyes were
open to its beauty, but he did not see; a vision was rising before him,
and his soul was breathing a prayer of gratitude to the Missioner's God,
to the God of the totem-worshippers over the ranges, to the God of all
things.
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