wood; she crouched shivering by the fire.

They breakfasted in silence, the fire between them. Neither did much
more than drink the strong coffee. Gloria sat tossing bits of bread into
the fire. It was on his lips to tell her not to do that; waste in the
wilderness is a crime. But he held his words back. He went methodically
about camp work; cleaned the plates and cups and pans; remade the two
packs. All this time she did not stir. At last he came back to her and
stood by the dying fire, ominously silent. She grew nervously restive,
wishing that he would say something.

"There's a day's work to be done," he said at last. His voice, meant to
be impersonal, was only stern. "That means an early start. And--"

"Is it very much further to the caves?" she asked.

He had paused; she had to say something.

"It will take a long day getting there. You see, we didn't come very far
yesterday."

This, she supposed, was a fling at her, and she stiffened under it. But
when she spoke it was to ignore the innuendo, intended or not. For,
wherever they might be led, she hoped it would not be into sordid
quarrelling.

"It begins to be rather obvious that I should not have come. Doesn't
it?" she asked.

"Well?"

"Now, if I turn back----"

"To the house?"

"And then to mamma and papa, in Coloma. And then to San Francisco."

"And I?"

"If you would go with me as far as the house----"

She saw how his body straightened, how his broad shoulders squared.
There was something eloquent in the gesture; Mark King, with no
toleration of a clutter of side issues, came straight to the main
barrier, which must be swept aside for good and all, or which must be
skirted and so passed and relegated to the limbo of dead hopes.

"Do you love me, Gloria?" he demanded. "As lovers love? As I have loved
you? As a wife should love her husband?"

"Didn't I explain all of that last night?" she said petulantly. "Must we
go over it all again? If I have ... have pained you, I am sorry. I can't
say any more than that, can I? I thought I made you see how I was
placed, how there was but the one thing for me to do...."

"Marry Gratton or me? And you chose me?"

She hesitated. She knew that he was angry, though he gave so little
outward sign. Nor did she fail to recognize that he had grounds for
anger. But none the less she resented his insistent questionings. She
stood looking blankly at him. If she had only obeyed her straightforward
impulse at the