With a low laugh, Sibyl drew back. Swiftly, as she had reached the arbor,
she crossed the garden, and a moment later, paused at the studio door.
Again she hesitated--then, gently,--so gently that the artist, lost in his
dreams, did not hear,--she opened the door. For a little, she stood
watching him. Softly, she took a few steps toward him. The artist, as
though sensing her presence, started and looked around.
She was standing as she stood in the picture; her hands outstretched, a
smile of welcome on her lips, the light of gladness in her eyes.
As he rose from his chair before the easel, she went to him.
* * * * *
Not many days later, there was a quiet wedding, at Sibyl's old home in the
hills. Besides the two young people and the clergyman, only Brian Oakley,
Mrs. Oakley, Conrad Lagrange and Myra Willard were present. These friends
who had prepared the old place for the mating ones, after a simple dinner
following the ceremony, returned down the canyon to the Station.
Standing arm in arm, where the old road turns around the cedar thicket,
and where the artist had first seen the girl, Sibyl and Aaron watched them
go. From the other side of roaring Clear Creek, they turned to wave hats
and handkerchiefs; the two in the shadow of the cedars answered; Czar
barked joyful congratulations; and the wagon disappeared in the wilderness
growth.
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