She showed Carley how to open the little stove and put the short billets

of wood inside and work the damper; and cautioning her to keep an eye on

it so that it would not get too hot, she left Carley to herself.

Carley found herself in an unfamiliar mood. There came a leap of her

heart every time she thought of the meeting with Glenn, so soon now

to be, but it was not that which was unfamiliar. She seemed to have a

difficult approach to undefined and unusual thoughts. All this was

so different from her regular life. Besides she was tired. But these

explanations did not suffice. There was a pang in her breast which must

owe its origin to the fact that Glenn Kilbourne had been ill in this

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little room and some other girl than Carley Burch had nursed him. "Am I

jealous?" she whispered. "No!" But she knew in her heart that she lied.

A woman could no more help being jealous, under such circumstances, than

she could help the beat and throb of her blood. Nevertheless, Carley was

glad Flo Hutter had been there, and always she would be grateful to her

for that kindness.

Carley disrobed and, donning her dressing gown, she unpacked her bags

and hung her things upon pegs under the curtained shelves. Then she

lay down to rest, with no intention of slumber. But there was a strange

magic in the fragrance of the room, like the piny tang outdoors, and in

the feel of the bed, and especially in the low, dreamy hum and murmur of

the waterfall. She fell asleep. When she awakened it was five o'clock.

The fire in the stove was out, but the water was still warm. She bathed

and dressed, not without care, yet as swiftly as was her habit at home;

and she wore white because Glenn had always liked her best in white. But

it was assuredly not a gown to wear in a country house where draughts of

cold air filled the unheated rooms and halls. So she threw round her

a warm sweater-shawl, with colorful bars becoming to her dark eyes and

hair.

All the time that she dressed and thought, her very being seemed to be

permeated by that soft murmuring sound of falling water. No moment of

waking life there at Lolomi Lodge, or perhaps of slumber hours, could

be wholly free of that sound. It vaguely tormented Carley, yet was not

uncomfortable. She went out upon the porch. The small alcove space

held a bed and a rustic chair. Above her the peeled poles of the roof

descended to within a few feet of her head. She had to lean over the

rail of the porch to look up. The green and red rock wall sheered

ponderously near. The waterfall showed first at the notch of a fissure,

where the cliff split; and down over smooth places the water gleamed,

to narrow in a crack with little drops, and suddenly to leap into a thin

white sheet.




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