wonderfully white and radiant and cold, with a piercing contrast to the
deep clear blue of sky. The waterfall hummed into an absolutely dead
silence. It emphasized the silence. Not only cold was it that made Carley
shudder. How lonely, how lost, how hidden this canyon!

Then she hurried to bed, grateful for the warm woolly blankets. Relaxation
and thought brought consciousness of the heat of her blood, the beat and
throb and swell of her heart, of the tumult within her. In the lonely
darkness of her room she might have faced the truth of her strangely
renewed and augmented love for Glenn Kilbourne. But she was more concerned
with her happiness. She had won him back. Her presence, her love had
overcome his restraint. She thrilled in the sweet consciousness of her
woman's conquest. How splendid he was! To hold back physical tenderness,
the simple expressions of love, because he had feared they might unduly
influence her! He had grown in many ways. She must be careful to reach up
to his ideals. That about Flo Hutter's toil-hardened hands! Was that
significance somehow connected with the rift in the lute? For Carley
admitted to herself that there was something amiss, something
incomprehensible, something intangible that obtruded its menace into her
dream of future happiness. Still, what had she to fear, so long as she
could be with Glenn?

And yet there were forced upon her, insistent and perplexing, the
questions--was her love selfish? was she considering him? was she blind to
something he could see? Tomorrow and next day and the days to come held
promise of joyous companionship with Glenn, yet likewise they seemed full
of a portent of trouble for her, or fight and ordeal, of lessons that would
make life significant for her.