the most enthusiastic lovers of music between the equator

and the French Opera House in New Orleans. They
are also strong believers that the advice of Emerson was

good when he said: "The thing thou wantest, 0 discon-
tented man -- take it, and pay the price." A number

of them had attended the performance of the Alcazar
Opera Company in Macuto, and found Mlle. Giraud's

style and techniquesatisfactory. They wanted her, so
they took her one evening suddenly and without any fuss.

They treated her with much consideration, exacting
only one song recital each day. She was quite pleased at

being rescued by Mr. Armstrong. So much for mystery
and adventure. Now to resume the theory of the proto-

plasm.
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锟給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. A
little 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 explorerthrill 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!
What a picnic the press agent would have! 'Held a