When she awakened she only half lifted her lids. Her younger sister, seated only a few feet away, was gazing gravely at her.
The light from the sun slanted across a break between the tall cliffs, touching the younger girl's fair hair with streaks of light that made it appear half silver, half gold.
"Via's eyes were the color of certain shades in autumn leaves, a kind of coppery brown," Jeanette was thinking idly, before she was aware of the expression with which they were regarding her.
Then her own eyes closed with an instinctive idea of self-protection.
In her sister's expression she believed by accident she had caught a glimpse into a mirror from which of late she had been turning away. It was not the admiring look of the younger sister toward the older that had been Via's lifelong attitude toward her. The eyes showed a kind of hurt suspicion, almost distrust.
Instantly Jeanette recalled the fact that she had believed Via had some obscure knowledge of her own failure to win the riding contest fairly. Of late she almost had forgotten the occurrence herself, concluding that no one had observed her action because no one had spoken of it.
"Why do you look at me like that, Via?" she demanded sharply, sitting up. "I have not been asleep for the last few moments, but have been watching you staring at me."
Never before could she remember speaking to her younger sister in such a tone or with such a sense of annoyance. Few persons ever spoke harshly to Via. Besides her gentleness she had an unusual dignity and poise.
At this moment she lost neither.
"Was I looking at you strangely, Jeanette? I did not know it and beg your pardon if I have made you angry. I confess I was thinking of you. Perhaps you do not care to hear that I was thinking how much you had changed since the day the silver arrow fell so unexpectedly at our feet."