Jack's letter, so unlike his usual calm, was convincing.

He sprang up, a smile on his face, his eyes shining with happiness, his blood surging through his heart, and then he remembered the letters were three years old! The gray cloud settled down upon him--his limbs grew cold, and the light went out of his eyes.
Three years! While he was camping in the Grand Canon with the lizards and skunks she was waiting to hear from him.

While he sat in the shade of the walls of Walpi, surrounded by hungry dogs and pot-bellied children, she was singing for him and wondering whether her letter had ever reached him.

Three years! A thousand things could happen in three years.

She may have died!--a cold shudder touched him--she might tire of waiting and marry some one else--or she might have gone away to the East, that unknown and dangerous jungle of cities.
He sprang up again.