Sitting there without movement, with her hands idle upon her lap, with her face a little lifted and her eyes wistfully bent on the great wall opposite, she seemed so young and small to be dwelling at such a place, so helpless, so solitary, that her presence appeared a cruel irony of fate.

Her homesteading was a desperate clutch at security; and her situation was utterly different from that of her friend, Imogene Martin, who viewed the matter as in the nature of a health-seeking holiday, and who was sustained by the knowledge that she had wealthy relations at Kennard to whom she could return.

Far different, indeed.

At the thought of the homesickness that at times Ruth must know, of the lonesomeness of mountain and mesa from which she must suffer, of the deprivations, the hard bareness of the life, the moments of despair, he had a sensation of the bitter unfairness of things and a desire to snatch her safe away from the harsh pass in which she stood.

It would be only right, it would be only just.
When presently she looked about and found his eyes rapt on her face, a quick blush spread over her throat and cheeks.
"I think--think we should go home now," she said, with a catch of her breath.
"Yes," said he, rising.
He leaped the log on which they had been sitting and then put up a hand to help her mount.