"You mean this is a sort of camp-out place?"

"Carley, I call it my home," he replied, and there was a low, strong
sweetness in his voice she had never heard before.

That silenced her for a while. She went to the door and gazed up at the
towering wall, more wonderful than ever, and more fearful, too, in her
sight. Presently tears dimmed her eyes. She did not understand her feeling;
she was ashamed of it; she hid it from Glenn. Indeed, there was something
terribly wrong between her and Glenn, and it was not in him. This cabin he
called home gave her a shock which would take time to analyze. At length
she turned to him with gay utterance upon her lips. She tried to put out of
her mind a dawning sense that this close-to-the-earth habitation, this
primitive dwelling, held strange inscrutable power over a self she had
never divined she possessed. The very stones in the hearth seemed to call
out from some remote past, and the strong sweet smell of burnt wood
thrilled to the marrow of her bones. How little she knew of herself! But
she had intelligence enough to understand that there was a woman in her,
the female of the species; and through that the sensations from logs and
stones and earth and fire had strange power to call up the emotions handed
down to her from the ages. The thrill, the queer heartbeat, the vague,
haunting memory of something, as of a dim childhood adventure, the strange
prickling sense of dread--these abided with her and augmented while she
tried to show Glenn her pride in him and also how funny his cabin seemed to
her.

Once or twice he hesitatingly, and somewhat appealingly, she imagined,
tried to broach the subject of his work there in the West. But Carley
wanted a little while with him free of disagreeable argument. It was a