her voice. "I want to rest--until the train goes."

He followed them in, and stood for a moment near the door.

"There's a room in there, my dear," said the woman, drawing back a curtain.
"Make yourself at home, and lie down on the bed until I have the tea
ready."

When the curtain had closed behind her, John Aldous spoke in a low voice to
the woman.

"Will you see her safely to the train, Mrs. Otto?" he asked. "It leaves at
a quarter after two. I must be going."

He felt that he had sufficiently performed his duty. He left the tent, and
paused for a moment outside to touzle affectionately the trampish heads of
the bear dogs. Then he turned away, whistling. He had gone a dozen steps
when a low voice stopped him. He turned. Joanne had come from the door.

For one moment he stared as if something more wonderful than anything he
had ever seen had risen before him. The girl was bareheaded, and she stood
in a sun mellowed by a film of cloud. Her head was piled with lustrous
coils of gold-brown hair that her hat and veil had hidden. Never had he
looked upon such wonderful hair, crushed and crumpled back from her smooth
forehead; nor such marvellous whiteness of skin and pure blue depths of
eyes! In her he saw now everything that was strong and splendid in woman.
She was not girlishly sweet. She was not a girl. She was a woman--glorious
to look at, a soul glowing out of her eyes, a strength that thrilled him in
the quiet and beautiful mystery of her face.