But her heart resented this. And something else told her deep inside that this strange new joy wouldn’t vanish; it would live throughout her life, and, whatever came to her in the years ahead, she’d always know underneath this was real, the fullness of perfect love for her.

As the miles lengthened and her thoughts grew sad with the distance, she drew out the little book he’d given her at parting. She’d slipped it into the breast pocket of her riding habit then, for she shrank from her aunt’s detecting it and questioning her. She’d been too absorbed with the separation to remember it till now.

She touched it shyly, as though it were part of him. The limp, worn covers, the look of constant use, all made it inexpressibly dear. She didn’t know an inanimate object, not beautiful in itself, could bring such tender love.

Opening to the flyleaf, she found his name in clear, bold writing: “John Chadwick Brownleigh.” For the first time she realized she hadn’t given him her name. Strange that they two should have come so close as to need no names between them. But she was glad she knew his name, and her eyes dwelt on the written characters. John! How well the name suited him.

Then she wondered whether he’d have any way of discovering her name. Perhaps her father had given it to him, or the station agent might have known to whom their car belonged. Of course he would when they received the orders—or did they give orders about cars only by numbers? She wished she dared ask someone. Perhaps she could find out in some way how those orders were written. Yet all the time she knew instinctively that if he knew her name a thousand times he wouldn’t communicate with her. She knew by that fine look of renunciation upon his face that no longing whatsoever could make him overstep the bounds he’d laid down between her soul and his.

With a sigh she opened the little book. It fell apart by itself to the place where he read the night before, the page still marked by the little silk cord. She could see him now with the firelight flickering on his face and the moonlight silvering his head, that strong tender look on his face. How wonderful he was!

She read the psalm over now, the first time in her life she ever consciously gave herself to reading the Bible. But the words held a charm that gave them new meaning, the charm of his voice as she heard them in memory and watched his face change and stir at the words as he read.

The day waned, and the train raced on, but the landscape had lost its attraction now for the girl. She pleaded weariness and remained apart from the rest, dreaming over her wonderful experience and thinking deep thoughts of wonder, regret, sadness, and joy. When night fell and the moon rose, lighting the world again, she knelt beside her car window, gazing for a long time into the wide clear sky, the sky that covered them both and the moon that looked down upon them. Then switching on the electric light over her berth she read the psalm again and fell asleep with her cheek on the little book and a prayer for him in her heart.

Standing on the station platform, watching the train disappear behind the foothills, John Brownleigh experienced, for the first time since coming to Arizona, a feeling of utter desolation. He’d been lonely and homesick at times, but always with a sense of being master of it. And with delight in his work it would pass and leave him free and glad in the power whereby his God had called him to the service. But now he felt the light of life leaving him with the train, and the glory of Arizona and the world he loved to be in was darkened.

For a moment or two his soul cried out that it couldn’t be, that he must mount some winged steed and speed after the one his heart loved. Then the wall of the inevitable appeared before his eyes, and reason crowded close to bring him to his senses. He turned away to hide the emotion in his face. The Indian boy, who was holding both horses, received his customary smile and pleasant word, but the missionary gave them more by habit now. His soul had entered its Gethsemane, and his spirit was bowed within him.

As soon as he could get away from the people around the station who wanted to tell him their little griefs, joys, and perplexities, he mounted Billy and, leading the borrowed pony, rode away into the desert, retracing the way they’d come together only a short time before. They traveled only as far back as the edge of the corn, where they made their last stop of the journey together a few short hours before. Here the missionary stopped and gave the horses their freedom to rest and eat.