CHAPTER II
It was rather curious to see that as she grew in strength Clement lost in assertiveness—in his feeling of command. He began to comprehend that with returning health the girl was not altogether pitiable. She had culture, social position and wealth.
The distinction of his readily-acquired millions grew to be a very poor possession in his own mind—in fact, he came at last to such self-confessed utter poverty of mind and body that he wondered at her continued toleration. He ceased to plead any special worthiness on his own part and began to throw himself on her mercy.
As the time came on when she no longer needed his arm for support he found it hard to offer it as an act of gallantry. In fact, in that small act was typified the change which he came ultimately to assume. At first she had seemed to him like an angelic child. Death's shadows had made him bold—but now he could not deceive himself: he was coming to love her in a very human and definite fashion. He dared not refer to the past in any way, and his visits grew more and more formal and carefully accounted for.
She thought she understood all this, and was serenely untroubled by it. She brooded over the problem with dreamful lips and half-shut eyes. She was drifting back to life on a current of mountain air companioned by splendid clouds, and her content was like to the lotus-eater's languor—it held no thought of time or tide.
That she idealized him was true, but he grew richly in grace. All the small amenities of conduct which he once possessed came back to him. He studied to please her, and succeeded in that as in his other ventures. He did not exactly abandon his business, but he came to superintend his superintendents.
However, he attached a telephone to his mine in order to be able to direct his business from the Springs. He still roomed at the hotel, though Ellice was living in a private house farther up the cañon. His rooms were becoming filled with books and magazines, and he was struggling hard to "catch up" with the latest literature.
If Ellice referred to any book, even in the most casual way, he made mental note of it, and if he had read it he re-read it, and if he had not read it he secured it at once.
"I know something of chemistry and mineralogy, and geology and milling processes, but of art and literature very little," he said to her once. "But give me time."
The highest peaks were white with September snows before she felt able to mount a horse. Each day she had been able to go a little farther and climb a little higher. Her gain was slow, very slow, but it was almost perceptible from day to day.
Mr. Ross had been to Chicago, and was once more at the Springs. He had brought a couple of nieces, very lively young creatures, who annoyed Clement exceedingly by their impertinence—at least, that is what he called their excessive interest in his affairs. Without the co-operation of Ellice he would have found little chance to see her alone, but she had a quiet way of letting them know when she found them a burden, which they respected.
One day he said to her, "Have you forgotten what I said to you about the spring up there?"
"No, I have not forgotten. Do you think I can go now? Am I really well enough to go?"
"The time has come."
"What would the doctor say?"
"The doctor—do you still heed what he says?"
"Must I walk?"
"Yes, to have the water heal you. But I will lead old Wisconse for you to ride down."
"After I am healed?"
"One can be cured and yet be tired."
They set off in such spirits as children have, old Wisconse leading soberly behind.
Clement was obliged to check the girl.
"Now don't go too fast. It is a long way up there. I warn you it is almost at timber-line."
But she paid small heed to his warning. She felt so light, so active, it seemed she could not tire.
For a time they followed the wide road which climbed steadily, but at last he stopped.
"Now here we strike the trail," he said. "You must go ahead, for I am to lead the horse."
"Not far ahead," she exclaimed, a little bit alarmed.
"Only two steps." He was a little amused at her. "Just so I will not tread on your heels."
"You needn't laugh. I know they hunt bears up here."
They climbed for some time in comparative silence.
"Oh, how much greener it is up here!" she exclaimed at last, looking around, her eyes bright with excitement.
He smiled indulgently. "You tourists think you know Colorado when you've crossed it once on the railway. This is the Colorado which you seldom see."
She was in rapture over the glory of color, the waving grasses of smooth hillsides, and the radiant dapple of light and shadow beneath the groves of vivid yellow aspens. The cactus and Spanish dagger, and the ever-present sage bush of the lower levels, had disappeared, crow's-foot and blue-joint grasses swung in the wind. The bright flame of the painted cup and the purple of the asters still lighted up the aisles of the pines in sheltered places.
"There are many more in August," he explained. "The frost has swept them all away."
"Is this our stream?" she asked.
"Yes, we cross it many times."
"How small it is."
"Are you tired?"
"Not at all."
He came close to her to listen to her breathing. "You must not do too much. If you find yourself out of breath stop and ride."
"I want to be cured."
He laughed. "By the way you lead up this trail I don't think you need medicine. I never finish wondering whether you are the same girl I met first——"
She flashed a glance back at him. "I'm not. I'm another person."
"That shows what three months of this climate will do."
"Climate did not do it."
"What did?"
"You did." She kept marching steadily forward, her head held very straight indeed.
"I wish you would wait a moment," he pleaded.
"I am very thirsty—I want to reach the spring."
"But, dear girl, you can't keep this up."
"Can't I? Watch me and see."
She seemed possessed of some miraculous staff, for she mounted the steep trail as lightly as a fawn. Clement was in an agony of apprehension lest she should overdo and fall fainting in the path. This ecstasy of activity was most dangerously persistent.
It was past noon when they came out of the aspens and pines into the little smooth slope of meadow which lay between the low peaks which were already crusted with snow. In the midst of the orange and purple and red of the grasses lay a deep, dark pool of water—as beautiful as her eyes, it seemed to him.
"Here is the spring," Clement called to the girl.
"I knew it," she said.
"Wait," he called again. "I must drink with you."
He hastened up and dipped a cup into the water and handed it to her.
"Now drink confusion to disease."
"Confusion!" She drank. "Oh, isn't it sweet? I never knew before how good water was. But here, drink. You are dying of thirst, too." She handed him the cup.
"I want to drink to some purpose also," he said, and there was no need of further words, but he went on, his full heart giving eloquence to his lips, "I want to pledge my life to your service—my life and all I am."
She grew a little pale. This intensity of emotion awed her as the majestic in Nature affects great souls. "I don't think you ought. I don't think I am quite worthy."
"Let me be judge of that." He spoke quickly and almost sharply. "Shall I drink?"
She had walked on while Clement was speaking, and stood leaning against the browsing horse. After a little hesitation she answered, "If you are thirsty."
The words were light, but he understood her. He drank and then came straight toward her.
She shrank from him in sudden timidity and said a little hurriedly, "Help me into the saddle. I shall need to ride back."