But morning found her with all terrors gone. Pride of race and knowledge of good intentions had come to sustain her.
In gold, in gems, it is friction which produces brilliancy; in the finer grades of humanity it is opposition, anxiety, suffering, even misfortune, which bring out inherent noble qualities that might else remain undiscovered. The fine courage of high race Rosamund had always possessed, but it lay hidden within her until the sting of an unseen enemy brought it to light. Fatigue and doubts and half-developed fears fell from her in the night; with the coming of the day she found herself strong in courage, in resourcefulness.
Ogilvie met her, later in the morning, coming from the post office at the Summit, and White Rosy stopped of her own accord until Rosamund had seated herself in the buggy.
"You look less tired," he said.
She laughed. "I'm not tired at all! I feel as if I could move mountains, even these mountains; I believe I could even move the people on them!"
He looked at her more keenly, and wondered what had caused her elation. His anxiety for her—and something else—was too great to permit of a smile in answer to hers.
"It is never too late to mend your ways!" he suggested. "I hope it's a change of mind that's making you so pleased with yourself!"
She laughed again, merrily. "It may be a change of mind," she said, "but it isn't a change of intention."
She waited for his question, but he only looked grimly at White Rosy's joggling ears.
"Don't you want to know what I mean?" she asked.