her bed, where it fell upon her feet, and
whatever way she moved them she could not escape the pressure of this
undesirable and mysterious gift.

By and by she fell asleep, only to dream that the package was a
caressing hand stealing about her, feeling for hers, and holding it
with soft, strong clasp. When she awoke she had the strangest
sensation in her right palm. It was moist, throbbing, hot, and the
feel of it on her cheek was strangely thrilling and comforting. She lay
awake then. The night was dark and still. Only a low moan of wind in
the pines and the faint tinkle of a sheep bell broke the serenity. She
felt very small and lonely lying there in the deep forest, and, try how
she would, it was impossible to think the same then as she did in the
clear light of day. Resentment, pride, anger--these seemed abated now.
If the events of the day had not changed her, they had at least brought
up softer and kinder memories and emotions than she had known for long.
Nothing hurt and saddened her so much as to remember the gay, happy
days of her childhood, her sweet mother, her, old home. Then her
thought returned to Isbel and his gift. It had been years since anyone
had made her a gift. What could this one be? It did not matter. The
wonder was that Jean Isbel should bring it to her and that she could be
perturbed by its presence. "He meant it for his sister and so he
thought well of me," she said, in finality.

Morning brought Ellen further vacillation. At length she rolled the
obnoxious package inside her blankets, saying that she would wait until
she got home and then consign it cheerfully to the flames. Antonio tied
her pack on a burro. She did not have a horse, and therefore had to
walk the several miles, to her father's ranch.

She set off at a brisk pace, leading the burro and carrying her rifle.
And soon she was deep in the fragrant forest. The morning was clear
and cool, with just enough frost to make the sunlit grass sparkle as if
with diamonds. Ellen felt fresh, buoyant, singularly full of, life.
Her youth would not be denied. It was pulsing, yearning. She hummed
an old Southern tune and every step seemed one of pleasure in action,
of advance toward some intangible future happiness. All the unknown of
life before her called. Her heart beat high in her breast and she
walked as one in a dream. Her thoughts were swift-changing, intimate,
deep, and vague, not of yesterday or to-day, nor of realit