Up here it was still winter, the Past; beneath was the sign of change, the coming of the New. And as Isabelle contemplated the broad sweep below, her heart was still, waiting for whatever should come out of the New.
The sun fell behind the Altar, as they called the flat top of Belton's Mountain, and all about the hills played the upward radiance from its descending beams…. Margaret touched the loafing horse with the whip, and he jogged down into the forest-covered road.
"Rob Falkner lands to-day in New York," Margaret remarked with a steady voice.
Isabelle started from her revery and asked:—
"Does he mean to go back to Panama?"
"I don't believe he knows yet. The life down there is, of course, terribly lonely and unfruitful. The work is interesting. I think he would like to go on with it until he had finished his part. But there are changes; the man he went out with has resigned."
Margaret wanted to talk about him, apparently, for she continued:—
"He has done some very good work,—has been in charge of a difficult cut,—and he has been specially mentioned several times. Did you see the illustrated article in the last People's? There were sketches and photographs of his section…. But he hasn't been well lately, had a touch of fever, and needs a rest."
"My husband wrote that they were to be divorced—he had heard so."
"I don't believe it," Margaret replied evenly. "His wife hasn't been down there…. It isn't exactly the place for a woman, at least for one who can't stand monotony, loneliness, and hardship. She has been in Europe with her mother, this last year."