essed it to himself, been
running up and down, like a thermometer in changeable weather; but they
had been "mostly down," and during the last few days had mounted little
above freezing-point. Now the sudden bound bewildered him. He did not know
why Angela had changed again at the very moment when she had seemed most
cold; but she _had_ changed, and almost fiercely he determined now to
fight for her. He loved her, and she must know what was in his heart. She
could not do what she had just agreed to do unless she liked and trusted
him: and he would make the most of all the days to come. He would keep her
forever if he could.

Her sudden throwing over of her own plans, for his sake, seemed too good
to be true, especially after her strange conduct at Paso Robles; but like
a boy who dreams he has all the Christmas presents he ever coveted in
vain, and wakes to find them his, he reminded himself that it was
true--true--true!

Angela did not tell Nick the excuse she offered Mrs. Harland for giving up
her visit. It was enough for him that it was given up. He would have been
even more proud and pleased, however, if he had known how frankly she
confessed her real intentions.

To do that seemed to Angela the only way. To have fibbed a little, or even
to have prevaricated whitely, would have spoiled everything.

"I find, dear Mrs. Harland," she said in her letter, "that I can't tear
myself from San Francisco. If I go with you to Shasta and the McCloud
River, and come back in a week or a fortnight to do my sightseeing,
nothing will be the same. I believe you will understand how I feel. My
impressions will be broken. Besides, Mr. Hilliard is here now, and willing
to show me what I ought to see. I'm afraid I seemed to repay his kindness
by being rude to him at Paso Robles. After San Francisco, he volunteers to
be my 'trail guide' through the Yosemite Valley, and if I put off that
trip too long I mayn't get so good a guide. Mr. Morehouse has advised me
to take him, and says these things are done in this Western World, where
gossip is blown away like mist by the winds that sweep through the Golden
Gate. Besides, why should any one gossip? There is no cause; and I am
nobody, and known to few. I'm not worth gossiping about! But I wonder if
you'll ever again invite me to Rushing River Camp? I hardly dare expect
it. Yet I hope!"

Already Mrs. Gaylor had been invited, and had accepted; but Angela was not
thinking of Mrs. Gaylor at the m