TheVirginianunlockedtheroominthehotelwherehekeptstoredhistent，hisblankets，hispack-saddles，andhismanyaccoutrementsforthebridaljourneyinthemountains。Outofthewindowhesawthemountainsblueinshadow，butsomecottonwoodsdistantintheflatbetweenwerestillbrightgreeninthesun。
Fromamonghispossessionshetookquicklyapistol，wipingandloadingit。Thenfromitsholsterheremovedthepistolwhichhehadtriedandmadesureofinthemorning。This，accordingtohiswontwhengoingintoarisk，heshovedbetweenhistrousersandhisshirtinfront。Theuntriedweaponheplacedintheholster，lettingithangvisiblyathiship。Heglancedoutofthewindowagain，andsawthemountainsofthesamedeepblue。Butthecottonwoodswerenolongerinthesunlight。Theshadowhadcomepastthem，nearerthetown；forfifteenofthefortyminutesweregone。“Thebishopiswrong，“hesaid。“Thereisnosenseintellingher。“Andheturnedtothedoor，justasshecametoitherself。
“Oh！“shecriedoutatonce，andrushedtohim。
Hesworeasheheldherclose。“Thefools！“hesaid。“Thefools！“
“Ithasbeensofrightfulwaitingforyou，“saidshe，leaningherheadagainsthim。