And this was what she had chosen of her own free will. She had deliberately thrown up a life full of interests and distractions, and had been mad enough to exchange it for this. She was fond of music, and would hear none. She was fond of theatres, and she had cut herself off from them. As for books--well, she could get them here; but meanwhile Meredith’s “Lord Ormont and his Aminta” lay unopened by her side, and the current number of the “Century” was thrown down and carelessly crumpled. But as she stooped to pick it up, she was ashamed to think how ungrateful she was for all Robert’s kindness. He had filled a little book-shelf with new books for her; he had subscribed for several of the best magazines; he had sent for a tuner from town to tune the ear-trumpet lady’s piano. She scarcely cared to read, and she had not touched the piano. A feeling of tenderness and gratitude came over her, and she sprang up, and trudged over the fields to speak a few words with her husband. His face brightened when he saw her, and he gave her a joyous welcome. Nellie ran to greet her, and the horses looked round inquiringly. For the moment she felt really proud and happy. “You must let me help you all I can,” she said gently. “I am so strong, and able to do so much. You look dreadfully tired.” “Oh, that’s nothing,” he said, smiling, and wiping his forehead. “Everything seems different since you came.” “If you teach me, I can do the pruning,” she said; “I believe I could cultivate too.” “I believe you could,” he answered, “and perhaps you think too that I am going to allow you to dig the basins for the irrigating during the summer. But you shall do the pruning, and next year, you know, there will be the curing of the lemons.” “_Next year_,” she repeated slowly, and her heart sank once more. “I’ve half decided to plant some walnuts,” he said. “They don’t bear for about nine years, but then they are very profitable.” “_Nine years_,” she echoed, and a throb of pain passed through her. But at that moment Ben Overleigh came cantering over the ranch, with a rifle in front of him and some quail which he had just shot. “This is my first offering of quail,” he said, turning to Hilda, “and I’ve shot them with this pretty little rifle which Jesse Holles is sending as a present to you. He is too shy to give it to you himself. Though you won’t think him shy when you see him.” “And when shall I see him?” asked Hilda, who had brightened up considerably, and looked beautiful.