mmon sense told her had no reason
for existence. But states of mind persisted in spite of common sense.

"Pepe, when is Antonio comin' back?" she asked.

The boy could not give her a satisfactory answer. Ellen had willingly
taken the sheep herder's place for a few days, but now she was
impatient to go home. She looked down the green-and-brown aisles of
the forest until she was tired. Antonio did not return. Ellen spent
the day with the sheep; and in the manifold task of caring for a
thousand new-born lambs she forgot herself. This day saw the end of
lambing-time for that season. The forest resounded to a babel of baas
and bleats. When night came she was glad to go to bed, for what with
loss of sleep, and weariness she could scarcely keep her eyes open.

The following morning she awakened early, bright, eager, expectant,
full of bounding life, strangely aware of the beauty and sweetness of
the scented forest, strangely conscious of some nameless stimulus to
her feelings.

Not long was Ellen in associating this new and delightful variety of
sensations with the fact that Jean Isbel had set to-day for his ride up
to the Rim to see her. Ellen's joyousness fled; her smiles faded. The
spring morning lost its magic radiance.

"Shore there's no sense in my lyin' to myself," she soliloquized,
thoughtfully. "It's queer of me--feelin' glad aboot him--without
knowin'. Lord! I must be lonesome! To be glad of seein' an Isbel,
even if he is different!"

Soberly she accepted the astounding reality. Her confidence died with
her gayety; her vanity began to suffer. And she caught at her
admission that Jean Isbel was different; she resented it in amaze; she
ridiculed it; she laughed at her naive confession. She could arrive at
no conclusion other than that she was a weak-minded, fluctuating,
inexplicable little fool.

But for all that she found her mind had been made up for her, without
consent or desire, before her will had been consulted; and that
inevitably and unalterably she meant to see Jean Isbel again. Long she
battled with this strange decree. One moment she won a victory over,
this new curious self, only to lose it the next. And at last out of her
conflict there emerged a few convictions that left her with some shreds
of pride. She hated all Isbels, she hated any Isbel, and particularly
she hated Jean Isbel. She was only curious--intensely curious to see
if he would come back, and if he did come what he