And for Wade, when she peered with straining heart and soul, all at once to become transfigured, that instant was a sweet and all-fulfilling reward for his years of pain.
"You drive me mad!" she whispered.
The heavy tread of the rancher, like the last of successive steps of fate in Wade's tragic expectancy, sounded on the porch.
"Wal, lass, hyar you are," he said, with a gladness deep in his voice.
"Now, whar's the boy ?" "Dad--I've not--seen Jack since breakfast," replied Columbine, tremulously.
"Sort of a laggard in love on his weddin'-day," rejoined the rancher.
His gladness and forgetfulness were as big as his heart.

"Wade, have you seen Jack ?" "No--I haven't," replied the hunter, with slow, long-drawn utterance.
"But--I see--him now." Wade pointed to the figure of Jack Belllounds approaching from the direction of the cabins.

He was not walking straight.
Old man Belllounds shot out his gray head like a striking eagle.
"What the hell ?" he muttered, as if bewildered at this strange, uneven gait of his son.

"Wade, what's the matter with Jack ?" Wade did not reply.

That moment had its sorrow for him as well as understanding of the wonder expressed by Columbine's cold little hand trembling in his.
The rancher suddenly recoiled.
"So help me Gawd--he's drunk!" he gasped, in a distress that unmanned him.
Then the parson and the invited relatives came out upon the porch, with gay voices and laughter that suddenly stilled when old Belllounds cried, brokenly: "Lass--go--in--the house." But Columbine did not move, and Wade felt her shaking as she leaned against him.
The bridegroom approached.