Vague sense of movement, of darkness, and of cold attended Carley's

consciousness for what seemed endless time.

A fall over rocks and a severe thrust from a sharp branch brought an

acute appreciation of her position, if not of her mental state. Night

had fallen. The stars were out. She had stumbled over a low ledge.

Evidently she had wandered around, dazedly and aimlessly, until brought

to her senses by pain. But for a gleam of campfires through the cedars

she would have been lost. It did not matter. She was lost, anyhow. What

was it that had happened?

Charley, the sheep herder! Then the thunderbolt of his words burst upon

her, and she collapsed to the cold stones. She lay quivering from head

to toe. She dug her fingers into the moss and lichen. "Oh, God, to

think--after all--it happened!" she moaned. There had been a rending

within her breast, as of physical violence, from which she now suffered

anguish. There were a thousand stinging nerves. There was a mortal

sickness of horror, of insupportable heartbreaking loss. She could not

endure it. She could not live under it.

She lay there until energy supplanted shock. Then she rose to rush into

the darkest shadows of the cedars, to grope here and there, hanging her

head, wringing her hands, beating her breast. "It can't be true," she

cried. "Not after my struggle--my victory--not now!" But there had been

no victory. And now it was too late. She was betrayed, ruined, lost.

That wonderful love had wrought transformation in her--and now havoc.

Once she fell against the branches of a thick cedar that upheld her. The

fragrance which had been sweet was now bitter. Life that had been bliss

was now hateful! She could not keep still for a single moment.

Black night, cedars, brush, rocks, washes, seemed not to obstruct her.

In a frenzy she rushed on, tearing her dress, her hands, her hair.

Violence of some kind was imperative. All at once a pale gleaming open

space, shimmering under the stars, lay before her. It was water. Deep

Lake! And instantly a hideous terrible longing to destroy herself

obsessed her. She had no fear. She could have welcomed the cold, slimy

depths that meant oblivion. But could they really bring oblivion? A year

ago she would have believed so, and would no longer have endured such

agony. She had changed. A cursed strength had come to her, and it was

this strength that now augmented her torture. She flung wide her arms to

the pitiless white stars and looked up at them. "My hope, my faith,

my love have failed me," she whispered. "They have been a lie. I went

through hell for them. And now I've nothing to live for.... Oh, let me

end it all!"




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