“It’s a glorious morning,” said Bess, in greeting.
“Yes. After the storm the west wind,” he replied.
“Last night was I—very much of a baby?” she asked, watching him.
“Pretty much.”
“Oh, I couldn’t help it!”
“I’m glad you were afraid.”
“Why?” she asked, in slow surprise.
“I’ll tell you some day,” he answered, soberly. Then around the camp-fire and through the morning meal he was silent; afterward he strolled thoughtfully off alone along the terrace. He climbed a great yellow rock raising its crest among the spruces, and there he sat down to face the valley and the west.
“I love her!”
Aloud he spoke—unburdened his heart—confessed his secret. For an instant the golden valley swam before his eyes, and the walls waved, and all about him whirled with tumult within.