f being inadequate to a crisis. She heard
David's voice exchanging a low good night with the old man, and she
hearkened anxiously, still hopeful of the thrill. But again there was
none, and she could only gaze at the blurred blot of light and whisper
"I'm engaged to be married," and wonder what was the matter with her
that she should feel just the same as she did before.

CHAPTER IV

The dawn was gray when Susan woke the next morning. It was cold and
she cowered under her blankets, watching the walls of the tent grow
light, and the splinter between the flaps turn from white to yellow.
She came to consciousness quickly, waking to an unaccustomed depression.

At first it had no central point of cause, but was reasonless and
all-permeating like the depression that comes from an unlocated
physical ill. Her body lay limp under the blankets as her mind lay
limp under the unfamiliar cloud. Then the memory of last night took
form, her gloom suddenly concentrated on a reason, and she sunk beneath
it, staring fixedly at the crack of growing light. When she heard the
camp stirring and sat up, her heart felt so heavy that she pressed on
it with her finger tips as if half expecting they might encounter a
strange, new hardness through the soft envelope of her body.

She did not know that this lowering of her crest, hitherto held so high
and carried so proudly, was the first move of her surrender. Her
liberty was over, she was almost in the snare. The strong feminine
principle in her impelled her like an inexorable fate toward marriage
and the man. The children that were to be, urged her toward their
creator. And the unconquered maidenhood that was still hers, recoiled
with trembling reluctance from its demanded death. Love had not yet
come to lead her into a new and wonderful world. She only felt the
sense of strangeness and fear, of leaving the familiar ways to enter
new ones that led through shadows to the unknown.

When she rode out beside her father in the red splendors of the
morning, a new gravity marked her. Already the first suggestion of the
woman--like the first breath of the season's change--was on her face.
The humility of the great abdication was in her eyes.

David left them together and rode away to the bluffs. She followed his
figure with a clouded glance as she told her father her news. Her
depression lessened when he turned upon her with a radiant face.

"If you had searched the world ove