But morning came again, as bright as that first day in Eden; the birds sang and the air was crisp, and young blood ran pleasantly.  She came down early, all radiant smiles; she kissed her mother on both cheeks and the lips, rumpled her father’s hair affectionately, went for a stroll with Mr. Gratton before breakfast, craved Georgia’s pardon abjectly, and made the world an abiding-place of joy for the college boys.

Gloria was mildly surprised that Gratton did not appear in the least to resent her day of adventuring with King.  He was interested; he did shake his head with one of his suave smiles and murmur “Lucky dog!” when King was referred to.  But his interest seemed to be chiefly in “that quaint little relic of past, turbulent days, Coloma.”  He had her tell him all about it; of the deserted houses, the store, everything.  Hence his curiosity in Honeycutt and Brodie, and just what happened between King and them, did not stand out alone and made no impression on Gloria.  Long ago Gratton had had from her lips what rumours had been repeated by her father to her mother and then relayed on to her own ears.  Down in San Francisco, busied with her own youthful joys, this quest of Ben Gaynor and Mark King had had no serious import to the girl; she had merely chatted of it because of its colourful phases.  Naturally, had she thought a great deal of it, she would have supposed that Gratton, in nowise concerned, was even more superficially interested than herself.

By the end of the week her guests began taking their leaves.  Georgia and Connie Grayson were off to foregather with a crowd of friends at the Lake Tahoe “Tavern”; Evelyn returned to her mother in Oakland; Archie departed importantly to aid his father “in the business”; Teddy went away regretfully.  Even Mr. Gratton, having lingered longest of all, went back to his city affairs, promising to run up again when he could, prophesying smilingly that he would see both Gloria and her mother in town within ten days.  Ben, leaving his oldest and most dependable timber-jack to look out for the womenfolk, hastened back to the lumber-camp, where he returned like a fish to water to his old pipe and old clothes and roomy boots.  And Gloria was plunged deep into loneliness.

She would walk up the creek back of the house, sit by the hour near the pool where the water came slithering down over a green and grey boulder, watching for the water-ouzel, entertained in an absent sort of way by his bobbings and flirtings and snatches of song.  She dreamed day-dreams; she started expectantly every time a chipmunk made a scurrying racket in dead leaves.  She made a hundred romantic conclusions to the story, just begun, by Mark King going in the night into the mountains where Brodie was.  Her mind was rife with speculation, having ample food for thought in all the information she had extracted from her father.  Thus, she knew of Andy Parker’s death; of old Honeycutt’s box; of Honeycutt’s boastings of a wild youth; of Brodie’s threats and King’s interference and the old man’s shotgun.  If she could only know what was happening now out there beyond those silent blue barriers!  Night after night she stood at her window, swayed through many swift moods by her live fancies.