ns, just as had the people and
the noise inside the hall. The idea of walking came to her, and occupied
her mind to the exclusion of everything else, and she set about it with
great intentness. How far she went and in what direction did not seem to
matter. When she moved she was happy; when she stopped she was
miserable. So she wandered on in the way she knew, and yet did not know,
out of the broad streets of the town, through a wide cleft in the hills,
up a long grassy valley that wound slowly and mounted gradually,
following the brawl of the stream, until at last she found herself in a
little fern-grown dell at the entrance of Iron Creek Pass. She pushed
her fingers through her fallen hair, and idly over the shimmering stuff
of her gown. Far above her she saw waveringly the stars. Finally the
idea of sleep came to her, just as the idea of walking had come to her
before. She sank to her knees, hesitated a moment, and then, with the
sigh of a tired child, she pillowed her head on her soft round arm and
closed her eyes.

* * * * *

The poor-wills ceased their plaintive cries. A few smaller birds chirped
drowsily. Back of the eastern hills the stars became a little dimmer,
and the soft night breeze, which had been steadily blowing through the
darkened hours, sank quietly to sleep. The subtle magic of nature began
to sketch in the picture of day, throwing objects forward from the dull
background, taking them bodily out of the blackness, as though creating
them anew. Fresh life stirred through everything. The vault of heaven
seemed full of it, and all the ravines and by-ways caught up its
overflow in a grand chorus of praise to the new-whitening morning.

The woman stirred drowsily and arose, throwing back her heavy hair from
her face. The flush of sleep still dyed her cheek a rich crimson, which
came and went slowly in the light of the young sun, vying in depth now
with the silk of her gown, now with the still deeper tones of a mountain
red-bird which splattered into rainbow tints the waters of the brook.
She caught the sound of the stream, and went to it. The red-bird
retreated circumspectly, silently. She knelt at the banks and splashed
the icy water over her face and throat, another red-bird, another wild
thing pulsing and palpitating with life. Then she arose to the full
height of her splendid body and looked abroad.

The morning swept through her like a river and left her clean. In th