Even so, she was very happy; for she was sustained by the constant hectic excitement that was in the air and by her brief moments with Meade, which served to gladden her and make of the days one long, delicious, hopeful procession of undisturbed dreams and fancies.

He was the same fond lover as on that adventurous journey up Black Bear Creek, and wooed her with a reckless fire that set her aglow.

And so she hummed and laughed and dreamed the days away, her happiness matching the peace and gladness of the season.
With Burrell, on the contrary, it was a season of penance and flagellations of spirit, lightened only by the moments when he was with her, and when she made him forget all else.

This damnable indecision goaded him to self-contempt; he despised himself for his weakness; his social instincts and training, his sense of duty, and the amenities of life that proud men hold dear tugged steadily, untiringly at his reason, while the little imp of impulse sat grinning wickedly, ready to pop out and upset all his high resolutions.

It raised such a tumult in his ears that he could not hear the other voices; it stirred his blood till it leaped and pounded, and then ran off with him to find this tiny brown and beaming witch who was at the bottom of it all.
No months in any clime can compare with an Arctic summer when Nature is kind, for she crowds into this short epoch all the warmth and brightness and splendor that is spread over longer periods in other lands, and every growing thing rejoices riotously in scent and color and profusion.