“What is the use? I’m afraid I’m getting in too deep. What common sense I have left tells me to get out while there is time.”
She tightened her clasp. “But you won’t go?” she said imperiously.
“No, I shall not go. If I did I shouldn’t stay.”
Helena threw back her head, her woman’s keen delight in power over man as strong for the moment as her gladness in Clive’s touch and presence.
After breakfast Miss Belmont and her guests drove for two hours through the forest, scarcely seeing the sun, then camped in a cañon by a running stream. The cañon was narrow at the bottom but widened above, and seemed to have gathered all the sunshine of the day. Its sides were a tangle of fragrant chaparral, wild roses, purple lilac, and red lily, the delicate green of young trees, the metallic green and red of the madroño. On high were the stark redwoods.
Some of the men went frankly to sleep after luncheon. The others and several of the girls fished ardently.
“Come,” said Helena to Clive, “there is a trail over there, and I want to see what is on top.”
“It will be a hard pull.”
“Don’t you want to come? Very well, I’ll go alone. Hang my hat on that tree.”
She sprang lightly from stone to stone across the stream.