As she drew near his breath left him, and the desire to lay his hand on her arm became so intense that his fingers locked upon the back of his pew--but he let her pass.

She glanced at him casually, then turned to smile at some word of the preacher walking just behind her.

Her passing was like music, and the fragrance of her garments was sweeter than any mountain flower.

The grace of her walk, the exquisite fairness of her skin subdued him, who acknowledged no master and no mistress.

She walked on out into the Sabbath sunshine and he followed, only to see her turn up the sidewalk close to the shoulder of the handsome young minister.
The lonely youth walked back to his hotel with manner so changed his mountain companions would have marveled at it.