the part itself was
genuine. She had come to love that little room of hers, love it for its
dear simplicity, the white muslin curtains, the rag mat, the patch-quilt
on the bed; those daily duties of a woman, that she had never done
before, that she had at first looked at askance, brought now a sense of
keen, housewifely pride; the gentle patience of the Patriarch, his love
for her, his simple trust in her had found a quick and instant response
in her own heart, and daily her affection for him had grown; and there
was Thornton--this man beside her, whose companionship somehow she
seemed to crave for, who, in his grave, quiet manliness, seemed a sort
of inspiration to her, who seemed in a curious way to appease a new
hunger that had come to her for association, for contact with better
thoughts and better ideals.

What was it? Environment? Yes; there must be something in that. It was
having its effect even on Pale Face Harry and the Flopper. What was it
that Harry, a surprisingly lusty farmhand now, had said to her a week or
so ago: "Say, Helena, do you ever feel that while you was trying to kid
the crowd about this living on the square, you was kind of getting
kidded yourself? I dunno! I ain't coughed for a month--honest. But it
ain't only that. Say--I dunno! Do you ever feel that way?"

Yes; there must be something in environment. The old life had never
brought her thoughts such as these, thoughts that had been with her now
almost since the first day she had come to Needley--this disquiet, this
self-questioning, these sudden floods of condemnatory confusion; and,
mingling with them, a startled thrill, a strange, half-glad,
half-premonitory awakening, a vague pronouncement that innately it might
be true that she was not what she _really_ was--but what all those
around her held her to be--what Mrs. Thornton had said she was--and--

Her fingers closed with a quick, fierce pressure on the arm-rest of her
seat--and she shifted her position with a sudden, involuntary movement.

Thornton, a road-map tacked on a piece of board and propped up at his
feet, raised his head, and, self-occupied himself, had apparently not
noticed her silence, for he spoke irrelevantly.

"I hope you won't mind if the road is a bit rougher than usual for a few
miles," he said; "but you know we decided we didn't like the looks of
the weather at tea-time, and according to the map, which labels it
'rough but passable,' this is a short cut that will lo