for the first time, he discovered unsounded depths through the subdued
lights of her eyes. "You must have known old Rainier intimately," he said.

She shook her head. "Not nearer than Puget Sound. But I have a marvelous
view from my hotel windows in Seattle, and often in long summer twilights
from the deck of Mr. Morganstein's yacht, I've watched the changing Alpine
glow on the mountain. I always draw my south curtains first, at Vivian
Court, to see whether the dome is clear or promises a wet day. I've
learned a mountain, surely as a person, has individuality; every cloud
effect is to me a different mood, and sometimes, when I've been most
unhappy or hard-pressed, the sight of Rainier rising so serene, so pure,
so high above the fretting clouds, has given me new courage. Can you
understand that, Mr. Tisdale? How a mountain can become an influence, an
inspiration, in a life?"

"I think so, yes." Tisdale paused, then added quietly: "But I would like
to be the first to show you old Rainier at close range."

At this she moved a little; he felt the invisible barrier stiffen between
them. "Mr. Morganstein promised to motor us through to the National Park
Inn when the new Government road was finished, but we've been waiting for
the heavy summer travel to be over. It has been like the road to Mecca
since the foot of the mountain has been accessible."

There was a silence, during which Tisdale watched the pulling team. Her
manner of reminding him of his position was unmistakable, but it was her
frequent reference to young Morganstein that began to nettle him. Why
should she wish specially to motor to Rainier with that black-browed,
querulous nabob? Why had she so often sailed on his yacht? And why should
she ever have been unhappy and hard-pressed, as she had confessed? She who
was so clearly created for happiness. But to Tisdale her camaraderie with
Nature was charming. It was so very rare. A few of the women he had known
hitherto had been capable of it, but they had lived rugged lives; the
wilderness gave them little else. And of all the men whom he had made his
friends through an eventful career, there was only Foster who sometimes
felt the magnitude of high places,--and there had been David Weatherbee.
At this thought of Weatherbee his brows clouded, and that last letter, the
one that had reached him at Nome and which he still carried in his breast
pocket, seemed suddenly to gather a vital quality. It was as though it
cr