But the gods of the desert, if any such there be--the spirit of the yucca
and the cactus and the sage--must have known by the lines of that immobile
face, by the unseeing stare in those weary eyes, that some fundamental
change had come over the woman who passed along that road. Sylvia had
seemed almost like a happy child when she descended the hill an hour
before. It was a woman who fashioned a new philosophy of life who now
returned.

It was her own father who had bade her come; it was the man she loved--for
whom she had meant to create her life anew--who had bade her go; and it
was one to whom she had never told an untruth, for whose pleasure she had
been beautiful and gay, who had destroyed her.

She had not fully realized how beautiful a thing her new security had
been; how deeply in her nature the roots of a new hope, of a decent
orderliness had taken hold. But the transplanted blossom which had seemed
to thrive naturally under the fostering care of Harboro--as if it had
never bloomed elsewhere than in his heart--had been ruthlessly torn up
again. The seeming gain had been turned into a hideous loss.

And so over that road where a woman with illusions had passed, a
philosopher who no longer dreamed returned.

Harboro, from his seat on the balcony, saw her coming. And something which
surrounded her like an aura of evil startled him. He dropped his newspaper
to the floor and leaned forward, his pulse disturbed, his muscles tense.
As she drew nearer he arose with the thought of hurrying down-stairs to
meet her; and then it occurred to him that she would wish to see him
alone, away from the averted eyes of old Antonia, which saw everything.

A little later he heard her coming up the stairs with heavy, measured
steps. And in that moment he warned himself to be calm, to discount the
nameless fears--surely baseless fears--which assailed him.

She appeared in the doorway and stood, inert, looking at him as from a
great distance.

"Well, Sylvia?" he said gently. He was seated now, and one arm was
stretched out over the arm of his chair invitingly. He tried to smile
calmly.

She did not draw any nearer to him. Her face was almost expressionless,
save that her eyes seemed slowly to darken as she regarded him. And then
he saw that certain muscles in her face twitched, and that this tendency
swiftly strengthened.

"Sylvia!" he exclaimed, alarmed. He arose and took a step toward her.

She staggered toward him and rest