And they seemed suddenly potent with magic charm to still the tumult of her, to soothe and rest, to create thoughts she had never thought before.

Rest was more than selfish indulgence.
Loneliness was necessary to gain consciousness of the soul.

Already far back in the past seemed Carley's other life.
By and by the dead stillness awoke to faint sounds not before perceptible to her--a low, mournful sough of the wind in the cedars, then the faint far-distant note of a coyote, sad as the night and infinitely wild.
Days passed.

Carley worked in the mornings with her hands and her brains.

In the afternoons she rode and walked and climbed with a double object, to work herself into fit physical condition and to explore every nook and corner of her six hundred and forty acres.
Then what she had expected and deliberately induced by her efforts quickly came to pass.