The mellow evening light glows with a living warmth of color upon hill, and valley, and plain. The myriad tints shine in perfect harmony, for Nature is incapable of discord whether in her reign of beauty or her moments of terror. Discord belongs to the imperfect human eye, the human brain, the human heart. Thus must the most perfect human creation be ever imperfect.
But Nature's perfections are never lost upon the human mind. They are not intended to be lost. They serve well their purpose of elevating, of uplifting all thought, and affording inspiration for all that which is good and beautiful in hearts thrilling with emotions which need strong support to save them from their own weaknesses.
Something of this influence was at work in the hearts of a man and a girl riding over the hard sand trail in the pleasant evening light. The man's youthful heart was thrilling with a hope he dared not attempt to define, and could not if he would. His every feeling was inspired by a joy he had no proper understanding of. The glance of his dark eyes bespoke his mood, and his buoyancy seemed to communicate itself to the great horse under him. All he knew was that the glory of the day was all about him, and, beside him, Joan was riding the Padre's sturdy horse.
The girl at his side was no less uplifted. At the moment shadows troubled her not at all. They were gone, merged into soft, hazy gauzes through which peeped the scenes of life as she desired life to be, and every picture was rose-tinted with the wonderful light of an evening sun.
Her fair young face was radiant; a wonderful happiness shone in the violet depths of her eyes. Her sweet lips were parted, displaying her even, white teeth, and her whole expression was much that of a child who, for the first time, opens its eyes to the real joy of living. Every now and again she drew a deep, long sigh of content and enjoyment.
For a while they rode in silence, their bodies swaying easily to the rhythmic gait of the horses. Their direction lay toward the sun, that direction which ever makes for hope. Ahead of them, and behind them, lay the forest of tall, garbless trunks, their foliage-crowned, disheveled heads nodding in the light breezes from the hilltops, which left the lower atmosphere undisturbed. The scented air, pungent with pleasant odors, swept them by as their horses loped easily along. It was a moment of perfect peace, a moment when life could hold no shadows.
But such feelings are only for the silent moments of perfect companionship. The spoken word, which indexes thought, robs them of half their charm and beauty. The girl felt something of this as the calm voice of her companion broke the wonderful spell.