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。

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