I-XIII

The afternoon was waning when he gazed
again into the deep, sombrous rift of Greenstream:
from where Gordon stood, on the
heights, in the flooding sun, it appeared to be already
evening below. As he descended the mountainside
the cool shadows rose about him, enveloping him in
the quietude, the sense of security, which brooded
over the withdrawn valley -- the resplendent mirage
of nature kind, beneficent, the illusion of Nature as
a tender and loving parent... of Nature, as imminent,
as automatic, as a landslip crushing a path
to the far, secret resting place of its destiny.

Dr. Pelliter's light carriage with its pair of weedy,
young horses stood hitched by the road above the
Makimmon dwelling; and, on entering the house,
Gordon found Clare in bed and Pelliter seated at
her side. A gaily-patched quilt hid all but her
head. She smiled at Gordon through her pale mask
of suffering; but her greeting turned to swift concern
at his battered countenance. "An accident,"
he explained impatiently.

The doctor greeted him seriously. He had, Gor-

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v?