Men and women whom life and their own sins had battered came seeking the
Tent; but they were few and they were chiefly old, for conscience cometh
mostly when man can work and wanton no more. Yet one day, when the sight
of the valley was most fair to their eyes, there came out of the
southmost corner a girl, who, as soon as she set foot in the valley, laid
aside her knapsack in the hollow of a tree, also her moccasins and a
little cap of fur, and came on with bare head and feet towards the Mount
of the Lost Winters.

She was of good stature, ripely made, not beautiful of face, but with a
look which would make any man turn twice to see, a very glory of fine
hair, and a hand which spoke oftener than the lips. She had come a
month's travel, scarcely halting from sunrise to sunset, and she was as
worn in body as in spirit. Now, as she passed up the valley she stood
still several times, and looked round in a kind of dream, as well one
might who had come out of an inclement south country to this sweet
nourishment. Yet she stood not still for joy and content, but for pain.
Once or twice she lifted up her hands above her head as though appealing,
but these pauses were only for brief moments, for she kept moving on
towards the mountain with a swift step. When she had climbed the plateau
where the delicate grass yielded with a tender spring to the feet, she
paused long and gazed round, as though to take a last glance at all;
then, turning to the Tent, looked steadfastly at it, awe and wonder, and
something more difficult of interpretation, in her face. At last she
slowly came to the curtain of the Tent, and lifting it, without a pause
stepped inside, the curtain falling behind her.

The Tent was empty save for the centre-pole, a wooden trough of dried
fruit, a jar of water, and a mat of the most gentle purple colour, which
was laid between the centre-pole and the tent-curtain. The mat was of