"Certainly. I'm making a collection and classification of specimens. I
intend--but what are you looking at?"

Teresa had suddenly turned away. Putting his hand lightly on her
shoulder, the young man brought her face to face him again.

She was laughing.

"I thought all the while it was for a girl," she said; "and--" But
here the mere effort of speech sent her off into an audible and genuine
outburst of laughter. It was the first time he had seen her even smile
other than bitterly. Characteristically unconscious of any humor in
her error, he remained unembarrassed. But he could not help noticing
a change in the expression of her face, her voice, and even her
intonation. It seemed as if that fit of laughter had loosed the last
ties that bound her to a self-imposed character, had swept away the last
barrier between her and her healthier nature, had dispossessed a painful
unreality, and relieved the morbid tension of a purely nervous attitude.
The change in her utterance and the resumption of her softer Spanish
accent seemed to have come with her confidences, and Low took leave
of her before their sylvan cabin with a comrade's heartiness, and a
complete forgetfulness that her voice had ever irritated him.

When he returned that afternoon he was startled to find the cabin empty.
But instead of bearing any appearance of disturbance or hurried flight,
the rude interior seemed to have magically assumed a decorous order
and cleanliness unknown before. Fresh bark hid the inequalities of
the floor. The skins and blankets were folded in the corners, the rude
shelves were carefully arranged, even a few tall ferns and bright but
quickly fading flowers were disposed around the blackened chimney. She