the world, lost in an unscalable rut of the earth.  Again the sunlight had failed, and the gray gloom of the canyon oppressed her.  It struck Carley as singular that she could not help being affected by mere weather, mere heights and depths, mere rock walls and pine trees, and rushing water.  For really, what had these to do with her?  These were only physical things that she was passing.  Nevertheless, although she resisted sensation, she was more and more shot through and through with the wildness and savageness of this canyon.

A sharp turn of the road to the right disclosed a slope down the creek, across which showed orchards and fields, and a cottage nestling at the base of the wall.  The ford at this crossing gave Carley more concern than any that had been passed, for there was greater volume and depth of water.  One of the horses slipped on the rocks, plunged up and on with great splash.  They crossed, however, without more mishap to Carley than further acquaintance with this iciest of waters.  From this point the driver turned back along the creek, passed between orchards and fields, and drove along the base of the red wall to come suddenly upon a large rustic house that had been hidden from Carley’s sight.  It sat almost against the stone cliff, from which poured a white foamy sheet of water.  The house was built of slabs with the bark on, and it had a lower and upper porch running all around, at least as far as the cliff.  Green growths from the rock wall overhung the upper porch.  A column of blue smoke curled lazily upward from a stone chimney.  On one of the porch posts hung a sign with rude lettering:  “Lolomi Lodge.”

“Hey, Josh, did you fetch the flour?” called a woman’s voice from inside.

“Hullo I Reckon I didn’t forgit nothin’,” replied the man, as he got down.  “An’ say, Mrs. Hutter, hyar’s a young lady from Noo Yorrk.”

That latter speech of the driver’s brought Mrs. Hutter out on the porch.  “Flo, come here,” she called to some one evidently near at hand.  And then she smilingly greeted Carley.

“Get down an’ come in, miss,” she said.  “I’m sure glad to see you.”

Carley, being stiff and cold, did not very gracefully disengage herself from the high muddy wheel and step.  When she mounted to the porch she saw that Mrs. Hutter was a woman of middle age, rather stout, with strong face full of fine wavy lines, and kind dark eyes.

“I’m Miss Burch,” said Carley.

“You’re the girl whose picture Glenn Kilbourne has over his fireplace,” declared the woman, heartily.  “I’m sure glad to meet you, an’ my daughter Flo will be, too.”

That about her picture pleased and warmed Carley.  “Yes, I’m Glenn Kilbourne’s fiancee.  I’ve come West to surprise him.  Is he here. . . .  Is—­ is he well?”

“Fine.  I saw him yesterday.  He’s changed a great deal from what he was at first.  Most all the last few months.  I reckon you won’t know him. . . .  But you’re wet an’ cold an’ you look fagged.  Come right in to the fire.”