The Call of the Canyon - Page 101/157

"Yes, Carley, you look well--better than I ever saw you, but--but--"

"But I don't look happy," interrupted Carley. "I am happy to get

home--to see you all... But--my--my heart is broken!"

A little shocked silence ensued, then Carley found herself being led

across the lower level and up the wide stairway. As she mounted to the

vast-domed cathedral-like chamber of the station a strange sensation

pierced her with a pang. Not the old thrill of leaving New York or

returning! Nor was it the welcome sight of the hurrying, well-dressed

throng of travelers and commuters, nor the stately beauty of the

station. Carley shut her eyes, and then she knew. The dim light of vast

space above, the looming gray walls, shadowy with tracery of figures,

the lofty dome like the blue sky, brought back to her the walls of Oak

Creek Canyon and the great caverns under the ramparts. As suddenly as

she had shut her eyes Carley opened them to face her friends.

"Let me get it over--quickly," she burst out, with hot blood surging

to her face. "I--I hated the West. It was so raw--so violent--so big.

I think I hate it more--now.... But it changed me--made me over

physically--and did something to my soul--God knows what.... And it has

saved Glenn. Oh! he is wonderful! You would never know him.... For long

I had not the courage to tell him I came to bring him back East. I kept

putting it off. And I rode, I climbed, I camped, I lived outdoors. At

first it nearly killed me. Then it grew bearable, and easier, until I

forgot. I wouldn't be honest if I didn't admit now that somehow I had a

wonderful time, in spite of all.... Glenn's business is raising hogs. He

has a hog ranch. Doesn't it sound sordid? But things are not always

what they sound--or seem. Glenn is absorbed in his work. I hated it--I

expected to ridicule it. But I ended by infinitely respecting him. I

learned through his hog-raising the real nobility of work.... Well, at

last I found courage to ask him when he was coming back to New York. He

said 'never!'... I realized then my blindness, my selfishness. I could

not be his wife and live there. I could not. I was too small, too

miserable, too comfort-loving--too spoiled. And all the time he knew

this--knew I'd never be big enough to marry him.... That broke my heart.

I left him free--and here I am.... I beg you--don't ask me any more--and

never to mention it to me--so I can forget."