Joan went to the seat by the tree, near the camp-fire. A purple
twilight was shadowing the canon. Far above, on the bold peak the
last warmth of the afterglow was fading. There was no wind, no
sound, no movement. Joan wondered where Jim Cleve was then. They had
often sat in the twilight. She felt an unreasonable resentment
toward him, knowing she was to blame, but blaming him for her
plight. Then suddenly she thought of her uncle, of home, of her
kindly old aunt who always worried so about her. Indeed, there was
cause to worry. She felt sorrier for them than for herself. And that
broke her spirit momentarily. Forlorn, and with a wave of sudden
sorrow and dread and hopelessness, she dropped her head upon her
knees and covered her face. Tears were a relief. She forgot Kells
and the part she must play. But she remembered swiftly--at the rude
touch of his hand.
"Here! Are you crying?" he asked, roughly.
"Do you think I'm laughing?" Joan retorted. Her wet eyes, as she
raised them, were proof enough.
"Stop it."
"I can't help--but cry--a little. I was th--thinking of home--of
those who've been father and mother to me--since I was a baby. I
wasn't crying--for myself. But they--they'll be so miserable. They
loved me so."
"It won't help matters to cry."
Joan stood up then, no longer sincere and forgetful, but the girl
with her deep and cunning game. She leaned close to him in the
twilight.
"Did you ever love any one? Did you ever have a sister--a girl like
me?"
Kells stalked away into the gloom.
Joan was left alone. She did not know whether to interpret his
abstraction, his temper, and his action as favorable or not. Still
she hoped and prayed they meant that he had some good in him. If she
could only hide her terror, her abhorrence, her knowledge of him and
his motive! She built up a bright camp-fire. There was an abundance
of wood. She dreaded the darkness and the night. Besides, the air
was growing chilly. So, arranging her saddle and blankets near the
fire, she composed herself in a comfortable seat to await Kells's
return and developments. It struck her forcibly that she had lost
some of her fear of Kells and she did not know why. She ought to
fear him more every hour--every minute. Presently she heard his step
brushing the grass and then he emerged out of the gloom. He had a
load of fire-wood on his shoulder.
"Did you get over your grief?" he asked, glancing down upon her.