und, dazedly and aimlessly, until brought
to her senses by pain. But for a gleam of campfires through the cedars
she would have been lost. It did not matter. She was lost, anyhow. What
was it that had happened?

Charley, the sheep herder! Then the thunderbolt of his words burst upon
her, and she collapsed to the cold stones. She lay quivering from head
to toe. She dug her fingers into the moss and lichen. "Oh, God, to
think--after all--it happened!" she moaned. There had been a rending
within her breast, as of physical violence, from which she now suffered
anguish. There were a thousand stinging nerves. There was a mortal
sickness of horror, of insupportable heartbreaking loss. She could not
endure it. She could not live under it.

She lay there until energy supplanted shock. Then she rose to rush into
the darkest shadows of the cedars, to grope here and there, hanging her
head, wringing her hands, beating her breast. "It can't be true," she
cried. "Not after my struggle--my victory--not now!" But there had been
no victory. And now it was too late. She was betrayed, ruined, lost.
That wonderful love had wrought transformation in her--and now havoc.
Once she fell against the branches of a thick cedar that upheld her. The
fragrance which had been sweet was now bitter. Life that had been bliss
was now hateful! She could not keep still for a single moment.

Black night, cedars, brush, rocks, washes, seemed not to obstruct her.
In a frenzy she rushed on, tearing her dress, her hands, her hair.
Violence of some kind was imperative. All at once a pale gleaming open
space, shimmering under the stars, lay before her. It was water. Deep
Lake! And instantly a hideous terrible longing to destroy herself
obsessed her. She had no fear. She could have welcomed the cold, slimy
depths that meant oblivion. But could they really bring oblivion? A year
ago she would have believed so, and would no longer have endured such
agony. She had changed. A cursed strength had come to her, and it was
this strength that now augmented her torture. She flung wide her arms to
the pitiless white stars and looked up at them. "My hope, my faith,
my love have failed me," she whispered. "They have been a lie. I went
through hell for them. And now I've nothing to live for.... Oh, let me
end it all!"

If she prayed to the stars for mercy, it was denied her. Passionlessly
they blazed on. But she could not kill herself. In that hour death would
have been the