afternoon and penetrated deep into the
woods.

There was rest here. The forest was rich, warm with the scent of pine,
of arbor vitae. There was the haunting promise of more brilliant hues.
Thoughts swept through Lane's mind. The great striving world was out
of sight. Here in the gold-flecked shade, under the murmuring pines
and pattering poplars, there was a world full of joy, wise in its
teaching, significant of the glory that was fading but which would
come again.

Lane loved the low hills, the deep, colorful woods in autumn. There he
lost himself. He learned. Silence and solitude taught him. From there
he had vision of the horde of men righting down the false impossible
trails of the world. He felt the sweetness, the frailty, the
dependence, the glory and the doom of women battling with life. He
realized the hopeless traits of human nature. Like dead scales his
egotism dropped from him. He divined the weaving of chances, the
unknown and unnamed, the pondering fates in store. The dominance of
pain over all--the wraith of the past--the importunity of a future
never to be gained--the insistence of nature, ever-pressing closer its
ruthless claims--all these which became intelligible to Lane, could
not keep life from looming sweet, hopeful, wonderful, worthy man's
best fight.

And sometimes the old haunting voices whispered to him out of the
river shadows--deeper, different, strangely more unintelligible than
ever before, calling more to his soul.

Next morning Lane got up at the usual hour and went outdoors, but
returned almost immediately.

"The river is rising fast. Listen. Hear that roar. There's a regular
old Niagara just below."

"I imagined that roar was the wind."

"The water has come up three feet since daylight. I guess I'll go down
now and pull in some driftwood."

"Oh, Daren! Don't be so adventurous. When the river is high there's a
dangerous rapid below."

"You're right about that. But I won't take any risks. I can easily
manage the boat, and I'll be careful."

The following three days it rained incessantly. Outside, on the gravel
walks, there was a ceaseless drip, drip, drip.

Friday evening the rain ceased, the murky clouds cleared away and for
a few moments a rainbow mingled its changing hues with the ruddy glow
of the setting sun. The next day dawned bright and dear.

Lane was indeed grateful for a change. Mel had been unaccountably
depressed during those gloomy days. And it worried him