The great pines bent their feathery heads over her, and the wind crept into the branches and softly sang a lullaby over the lonely little pilgrim. Regardless of dangers that might be stalking about her, she slept. Quite early in the morning, before the first faint streaks of day had penetrated the cool retreat where Dawn lay asleep, there came a soft murmur of gentle music from the trees all about; and soon a sleepy twitter brightened and grew into a chorus of melody, bird answering to bird from tree to tree. Up and down and around, in and out and over, the threads of song spun themselves into a lovely golden web of harmony that seemed to shut the vaulted forest in loftily from all the world, and in the midst of it all Dawn awoke. It was quite gradual, her return to consciousness, as if the atmosphere of sweetness and melody pervaded her soul, and stirred it from its slumber in spite of itself, bringing new life and a great peace. At first she did not open her eyes, nor think where she was. It was enough that she smelled the pines and felt the soft lap of nature where she lay. It seemed still, very still and restful; cool and sweet and dark. That she knew with her eyes closed. Up above, where the birds sang, she seemed to feel a golden light coming, coming, and knew that it would soon grow into morning. But now she might just allow herself this little time to lie still and listen and wait. There came to her consciousness a thrill of freedom that in her fright and hurry the night before she had not realized. For months now she had been half-planning to run away from the things that were saddening her life, and now she had done it. She was free! Free to order her small life for herself. Down deep in her heart tugged the agony of a great loss, yet it was as of the loss of something she had never really had—only dreamed of briefly. She would not let herself think of Charles now. She wanted to keep his memory as something sweet to take out and look at sometimes when she was lonely, but that could not be until the first bitterness of the shame of her union to him was past. She wanted to forget the scene in his mother’s room, her terrible helplessness before the onslaught of the woman’s tongue; and just to rest and feel that she was free. Freedom meant getting away from Harrington Winthrop and from her step-mother, and from her father’s wrath, or his possible efforts to shape her life. What else it meant, she had yet to learn. She supposed there was some place in the world where she might work for what she needed. The thought of her livelihood did not trouble her. Youth feels equal to its own support always, if it has any spirit at all. Dawn had plenty of spirit, and felt sure she could earn her "board and keep." At present, she was concerned only in getting rested and getting away as far as possible from all the evil things which seemed to have combined to crush her.