Three weeks of this self-imposed strenuous training wore by before
Carley was free enough from weariness and pain to experience other
sensations. Her general health, evidently, had not been so good as when
she had first visited Arizona. She caught cold and suffered other ills
attendant upon an abrupt change of climate and condition. But doggedly
she kept at her task. She rode when she should have been in bed; she
walked when she should have ridden; she climbed when she should have
kept to level ground. And finally by degrees so gradual as not to be
noticed except in the sum of them she began to mend.
Meanwhile the construction of her house went on with uninterrupted
rapidity. When the low, slanting, wide-eaved roof was completed Carley
lost further concern about rainstorms. Let them come. When the plumbing
was all in and Carley saw verification of Hoyle's assurance that it
would mean a gravity supply of water ample and continual, she lost her
last concern as to the practicability of the work. That, and the earning
of her endurance, seemed to bring closer a wonderful reward, still
nameless and spiritual, that had been unattainable, but now breathed to
her on the fragrant desert wind and in the brooding silence.
The time came when each afternoon's ride or climb called to Carley with
increasing delight. But the fact that she must soon reveal to Glenn her
presence and transformation did not seem to be all the cause. She
could ride without pain, walk without losing her breath, work without
blistering her hands; and in this there was compensation. The building
of the house that was to become a home, the development of water
resources and land that meant the making of a ranch--these did not
altogether constitute the anticipation of content. To be active, to
accomplish things, to recall to mind her knowledge of manual training,
of domestic science, of designing and painting, to learn to cook--these
were indeed measures full of reward, but they were not all. In her
wondering, pondering meditation she arrived at the point where she
tried to assign to her love the growing fullness of her life. This,
too, splendid and all-pervading as it was, she had to reject. Some
exceedingly illusive and vital significance of life had insidiously come
to Carley.
One afternoon, with the sky full of white and black rolling clouds and a
cold wind sweeping through the cedars, she halted to rest and escape the
chilling gale for a while. In a sunny place, under the lee of a gravel
bank, she sought refuge. It was warm here because of the reflected
sunlight and the absence of wind. The sand at the bottom of the bank
held a heat that felt good to her cold hands. All about her and over her
swept the keen wind, rustling the sage, seeping the sand, swishing the
cedars, but she was out of it, protected and insulated. The sky above
showed blue between the threatening clouds. There were no birds or
living creatures in sight. Certainly the place had little of color
or beauty or grace, nor could she see beyond a few rods. Lying there,
without any particular reason that she was conscious of, she suddenly
felt shot through and through with exhilaration.