“I am in danger,” he said gravely, “of experiencing a happiness so great that I shall never again be satisfied with life under less perfect conditions.  Can you imagine how the fresh air seems to a man just released from prison?  Well, life has a tang like that for me now.  I tell you, I have been a discouraged man.  It looked to me as if all of the things I had been fighting for throughout my manhood were going to ruin.  I saw my theories shattered, my fortune disappearing, my reputation, as the successful manipulator of other men’s money, being lost.  I’ve been looked upon as a lucky man and a reliable one out here in Colorado.  They swear by you or at you out in this part of the country, and I’ve been accustomed to having them count on me.  I even had some political expectations, and was justified in them, I imagine.  I had an idea I might go to the state legislature and then take a jump to Washington.  Well, it was a soap-bubble dream, of course.  I lost out.  This tatterdemalion crew of mine is all there is left of my cohorts.  I suppose I’m looked on now as a wild experimenter.”

“Would it seem that way to men?” asked Kate, surprised.  “To take what lies at hand and make use of it—­to win with a broken sword—­that strikes me as magnificent.”

She forgot to put a guard on herself for a moment and let her admiration, her deep confidence in him, shine from her eyes.  She saw him whiten, saw a look of almost terrible happiness in his eyes, and withdrew her gaze.  She could hear him breathing deeply, but he said nothing.  There fell upon them a profound and wonderful silence which held when they had arisen and were sitting before his hearth.  They were alone with elemental things—­night, silence, wind, and fire.  They had the essentials, roof and food, clothing and companionship.  Back and forth between them flashed the mystic currents of understanding.  A happiness such as neither had known suffused them.

When they said “good-night,” each made the discovery that the simple word has occult and beautiful meanings.

XXIX

At the end of a week Honora showed a decided change for the better.  The horror had gone out of her face; she ate without persuasion; she slept briefly but often.  The conclusion of a fortnight saw her still sad, but beyond immediate danger of melancholy.  She began to assume some slight responsibility toward the children, and she loved to have them playing about her, although she soon wearied of them.

Kate had decided not to go back to Chicago until her return from California.  She was to speak to the Federation of Women’s Clubs which met at Los Angeles, and she proposed taking Honora with her.  Honora was not averse if Kate and Karl thought it best for her.  The babies were to remain safe at home.

“I wouldn’t dare experiment with babies,” said Kate.  “At least, not with other people’s.”

“You surely wouldn’t experiment with your own, ma’am!” cried the privileged Mrs. Hays.