d
not see, of course, the flat top itself. Before her rose a precipitous
slope, covered with loose stones and debris, and ending in a jagged
line of rock against the sky, dull gray against the blue. Thin grass
grew yet some distance up the slope; and then it was bare of
vegetation, bare of soil, with a wavering faint line marking where
life ended and death began.

She halted near the last gnome-tree, and stared at the desolate slope
and the forbidding sky line. This was the end of her journey; and she
knew no more than she could have known back there in the Park. The
mountain was still the sphinx, telling her nothing, though she had
come to it at last after months of questioning, with one question on
her lips. Where was Philip? Perhaps just yonder, just beyond that
sharp-raised barrier. From that crest, no doubt, the whole expanse of
the summit would be visible. And how could she go back alone, without
being able to assure herself forever that she had done her best?

She studied the slope. From where she stood to the gray sky line the
distance was perhaps seven hundred feet. But the trail, which she
could discern faintly marked among the loose and sliding stones,
traveled five or six times that distance in its zigzag course.
Fascinated, her eyes followed it in and out until its dim line
vanished high up in the gray-brown uniformity of the steep ascent.
From this she looked up eagerly at the sky. It was a clear steel-blue;
the sun shone bright on the expanse of stone; a vigorous but not
violent breeze came from around the distant curve of the slope. It
seemed incredible, considering all that she had heard, and all that
she had imagined. The mountain, she knew, had its brief and infrequent
hours of quiet, but she had pictured it as terrifying even in its
calm. Now it was formidable and mysterious, and she could not forget
its menace; but it was not terrible. On top, perhaps----

She urged Tuesday forward. The trail went far out to the right at an
easy gradient, turned sharply, and came back to reach out as far to
the left. It was more difficult than Marion had imagined, for the
reason that the loose stones afforded an ill footing for the pony,
which slipped and slid and stumbled, often going to his knees, and
more than once barely avoiding a fall that would have sent horse and
rider rolling down to be caught by the network of stunted trees. But
Tuesday was sure of foot; and so, with muscles quivering under the
strain,