"But you know it now, Beloved?" he said, drawing the hands he clasped nearer to himself. "I thank G.o.d for that."

He closed his eyes, and lay very still, still clasping her hands. She watched by him. At last, his hands relaxed their hold, and she knew by his regular breathing that he was asleep.

John Clayton came to the door, saw how it was, and went away. So did the others who came to inquire. And Kenneth slept on, a restful, restoring sleep. And as Esther watched, she repeated to herself:

"The Greatest of These is Love."

CHAPTER XXIII

AT SUNSET

It was Dr. Mish.e.l.l speaking.

"My dear young lady, if Mr. Hastings must go to England, as he says he must, he should not go alone. He needs care. I have recommended you as a competent nurse." His eyes twinkled.

"Is it _safe_ for him to travel now?" asked Esther.

"If he makes the journey by slow stages."

The physician spoke with some hesitation.

"At any rate he should get out of this intense heat as soon as possible."

"But the ocean voyage," she suggested.

"Probably do him good."

The physician had already extended his congratulations to them. Before leaving, he gripped Kenneth's hand, and said heartily:

"My nurse will be a helpmate to you. She is a woman of sense."

While he still gripped Kenneth's hand, he turned to Esther, and extended his other hand to her. He placed her hand in Kenneth's, and said impressively:

"'What _G.o.d_ hath joined together, let not man put asunder.' Miss Bright, you are to marry a true man. Always _trust_ him."

His eyes filled. He turned abruptly and was gone.

Poor Dr. Mish.e.l.l!

The wilting heat of August was upon them.

At evening, Esther, wearied with packing trunks, joined Kenneth on the veranda. As she sat there, Wathemah ran to her, and flung a bunch of flowers in her lap.

"Why do you leave me?" he asked.

She put her arm about him, and told him she was going home, a long, long way from there, and that Mr. Hastings was going with her.

"Wathemah go, too?" he asked.

Both laughed.

"No, little chap," she said, drawing him closer to her, "not this time."

"Wathemah go, too," he said, reproachfully, looking at Kenneth with marked disapproval.

"Do you love your teacher?" asked Kenneth. He, too, liked the child.

Wathemah nodded.

"Would you like to be her boy, and live with her always?"

Wathemah placed one arm about his teacher's neck, and said softly:

"Wathemah's mother!"

Kenneth laughed again, and declared he was jealous.

Then Esther told the little fellow she would come back to Gila and get him, and he should then go to live with her always.

"Take me now," he urged.

"No, dear," she said.

With that, he sprang from her, and walked proudly out of the yard, on toward the canyon, without turning, or looking back.

"A nugget of gold from the Rockies," said Kenneth, looking after him.

"An Arizona cactus," she replied, "lovely, but hard to handle."

Wathemah trudged up the canyon, to his favorite bowlder, where he went, often, to listen to the waters. There, he threw himself down, and cried himself to sleep. He had slept a half-hour, perhaps, when he was awakened by voices.

"Why, here's Wathemah," called out Jack Harding.

Another spoke, "He's a queer un. He never will be civilized."

The group of cowboys gathered about the child.

"What's the matter, sonny?" asked his friend, Jack Harding.

Then he told them of his teacher's refusal to take him with her.

"Don't cry, little kid!" said Jack. "Here, boys, let's give him money ter go home with Miss Bright. I'll jest ask her ter take him along with her, an' I'll pay fur his keep. Don't cry, sonny. It's all right.

Down in y'r pockets, pards, an' fork out some money fur Wathemah. We saved him, an' raised him, yer know."

His own hand went down into his pockets, and into his hat went a roll of bills. He pa.s.sed his hat, and soon it was full of bills and silver dollars.