gloated over them. They were so fresh, crisp and inspiring that they
reminded him of the seaside breezes that had quickened his pulses with
health and pleasure during the past summer. She wrote in an easy,
gossiping style of the books she was reading; of the good things in
the art and literary journals, and of such questions of the day as
would naturally interest her, and he so gratefully assured her that by
this course she kept him within the pale of civilization, that she was
induced to write oftener. In her effort to gather material that would
interest him, life gained a new and richer zest, and she learned how
the kindling flame within her heart could illumine even common things.
Each day brought such a wealth of joy that it was like a new and glad
surprise. The page she read had not only the interest imparted to it
by the author, but also the far greater charm of suggesting thoughts
of him or for him; and so began an interchange of books and
periodicals, with pencillings, queries, marks of approval and
disapproval. "I will show him," she had resolved, "that I am not a
doll to be petted, but a woman who can be his friend and companion."

And she proved this quite as truly by her questions, her intelligent
interest in his mining pursuits and the wild region of his sojourn, as
by her words concerning that with which she was familiar.

It was hard for Hilland to maintain his reticence or submit to the
necessity of his long absence. She had revealed the rich jewel of her
mind so fully that his love had increased with time and separation,
and he longed to obtain the complete assurance of his happiness. And
yet not for the world would he again endanger his hopes by rashness.
He ventured, however, to send the copy of Emerson with the quotation
already given strongly underscored. Since she made no allusion to this
in her subsequent letter, he again grew more wary, but as spring