Beside him, holding his hand she slipped down the shelf, ran down the long, steep slant of sliding stones, out of the cloud of dust, and likewise out of the pale gloom.
"We beat the slide," she cried.
The miniature avalanche cracked and roared, and rattled itself into an inert mass at the base of the incline.

Yellow dust like the gloom of the cave, but not so changeless, drifted away on the wind; the roar clapped in echo from the cliff, returned, went back, and came again to die in the hollowness.

Down on the sunny terrace there was a different atmosphere.

Ring and Whitie leaped around Bess.

Once more she was smiling, gay, and thoughtless, with the dream-mood in the shadow of her eyes.
"Bess, I haven't seen that since last summer.