Now some women would say she had not much to make her happy, but she was
happy nevertheless. She loved a man--to her the noblest, most god-like
creature of his kind,--and she was happy in abandoning herself to him.
She had lived in this love so long, had felt and seen it grow from
nothing to something formidable, then to something fine, until now it
filled her and thrilled her; it overspread everything, outran her
thoughts, brought the far-off mountains nearer, shortened the trail
between her camp and his, gave a new glow to the sunset, a new glory to
the dawn and a fresher fragrance to the wildflowers; the leaves
whispered to her, the birds came, nearer and sang sweeter; in short it
was her life--the sunshine of her soul. And that's the way a wild woman
loves.

And she was to see him soon. Perhaps he would speak to her, or smile on
her. If only he gave a passing glance she would be glad and content to
know that he was near. Alas, he came not at all. She watched with the
stars through the short night, slept at dawn, and woke to find Jaquis
preparing the morning meal. She thought to question Jaquis, but her
interest in the engineer, and the growing conviction that his own star
sank as his master's rose, rendered him unsafe as a companion to a young
bride whose husband was in the hills and unconscious of the fact that he
was wedded to anything save the wilderness and his work.

Jaquis not only refused to tell her where the engineer was operating,
but promised to strangle her if she mentioned his master's name again.

At last the long day died, the sunset was less golden, and the stars
sang sadder than they sang the day before. She watched the west, into
which he had gone and out of which she hoped he might return to her.