"He struck me as a little morbid, not to say morose. Has he had trouble in his church?"
Her answer was deep-toned and affectedly solemn in one so young. "No, but his wife passed out last year."
"Passed out? What do you mean by that?"
"I mean she died."
"Oh, I see!" His inflection checked her confidence, and they rode for a little way in silence.
Serviss was thinking. The situation is now clear. Clarke is working upon this sweet and charming girl in order to have her take the place of his dead wife. A sorrowful thing to think of, but not so bad as I have been imagining. At length he asked: "What else can you tell me about this Mr. Clarke? Is he a native of the West?"
"Oh no, he is from the East. He had a big church in Brooklyn; but his health gave out and he was forced to leave it. He came here for the baths and the air. He is much better now."
"He retains all his intellectual diseases, however. What medicine will he find for those?" Meeting the girl's startled glance, he hastened to add: "I beg your pardon, I was just wondering if he were as morbid when he came as he now seems."
"Oh no! He was quite cheerful till his wife went away. That changed him greatly. For months he hardly left his study. He reads too much even now. That is why he looks so pale. His house is packed with books."
"He seems in need of fresh air. How does your father get on with him?"
"Not at all well."
"I inferred that. Your father is a man of deeds--of open air--I take it."
"Mr. Lambert isn't my own father," she took this opportunity to explain. "My own father passed to the other side when I was eleven."
"Pardon my curiosity, Miss Lambert, but you've used a phrase once or twice which I've heard the people of a certain faith use. Is your mother a spiritualist?"
She looked at him with timid eyes, then turned quickly away. "She--she used to be; she's studying theosophy now."
"And the minister is trying to convert you all to his especial theory! I can imagine his discourses. No wonder you want to flee."
The girl's whole face, voice, and manner changed--became bitter, passionate. "Oh, I hate it! I hate it! I want to be free of it all!"
The intensity of her utterance amazed Serviss, and he studied her profile in silence before he answered. "I think I know what you mean, and I sympathize with you. You're too young to be troubled by the doubts and dismays of men like Clarke. He is preposterous in the face of a landscape like this. Let us forget him and his 'isms.'" With these words he straightened in his saddle and lifted his eyes towards the height before them. "Isn't that superb!"