luntarily her first meeting with
Elijah, the intangible something that had puzzled her about him. Then
the incidents of the morning came to her with a rush that overpowered
her. She saw everything now, and the smile died from her lips. "What
might he not have accomplished, had he married a different sort of a
woman?--if,"--her face was scarlet now.

"Breakfast!" Elijah stood in the door, flourishing a dauby spoon.
"Oatmeal!" he called, looking at Helen. "Come!"

He darted forward, flung one arm with the spoon attached around Amy's
waist and swept her towards the open door.

Helen followed, laughing. The laugh was not the hearty, spontaneous
expression of innocent mirth, of--was it only hours, or was it ages ago?
Helen could not answer. She was not clearly conscious of the question.
She was not certain whether the present was a reality, or whether it was
a vague, disagreeable dream, threatening hideous things that were
nameless and terrifying, as the demon-peopled shadows surrounding a
shrinking child. Her eager anticipations, the sudden, indefinite
repugnance to the ride with Elijah, the chill morning, the huddled
numbness of the blanketed Mexicans, the hunched-up cattle by the
roadside, the clammy, milky fog, the fierce blast of the smiting sun,
the land of promise in the blazing light, Elijah's "My work, mine and
yours," the consuming enthusiasm of Elijah, the empty, inane beauty of
Amy, these two people, twain and one flesh, and she, apart or a part;
which should it be? Weaving out and in, confusing, tantalizing, and she,
drifting and floating like an errant leaf on these currents of destiny,
going hither and thither, to find a resting place, where?

The sound of her own laughter mocked her. She was conscious that her
smile was labored, that her spontaneous effort would be tears. This she
was resisting. Everything seemed strange to her. Why? She could not
answer.

The breakfast table was set on a verandah, shaded with climbing roses
and honeysuckle in full bloom. Flecks of sunshine pierced the clustered
leaves, but the fierceness of the sun was tempered to a soft glow by the
matted vines. The fragrance of flowers perfumed the air, and light and
perfume gave a heightened pleasure from consciousness of the conditions
without. A dish of steaming oatmeal was before Elijah, a pitcher of
thick cream and a bowl of powdered sugar. In the centre of the table was
a plate of oranges, golden and fair.

Elijah motioned Hel