“You condemn me utterly,” she said, almost pleadingly, and she showed by her intensity how much she cared for what this man thought of her. She showed it all the more as the days went on, and, after all, it was natural enough that she should turn to him as her only friend in this distant country, where she was a complete stranger. But the matter did not end there. She was strongly attracted to him, and either she could not or would not hide it. At one moment a thrill of contempt would pass through Ben, and he could have turned from her as from something which soiled his soul; and at another moment a throb of passion would possess him, and he could have thrown up everything for her, his loyalty to his friend, his sense of dignity and fitness, his own estimate of her character--everything he could have swept to the winds. He noticed, too, that as the time went on, she seemed to become more reconciled to the scenery; and indeed the country was looking entrancingly beautiful. All Robert’s promises to her had come true: the foothills were powdered with gold; some of the slopes were arrayed in bright attire of orange-coloured poppies, and others had chosen for themselves a luxurious garment of wild mustard. Then there was the dazzling green grass, and the vast expanse of grain-fields, and in the distance yonder there were patches of purple and yellow flowers, reminding one of the gorse and heather in the old country. The grim barren mountains looked down indulgently on all this finery, like old people who have had their days of vanity, and are content to watch the young bedeck themselves so gaily. And the air was laden with the heavy fragrances of the flowers and the orange and lemon blossoms. Hilda drove out every day, and brought back endless treasures: wild lilac, wild azalea, and maiden-hair from some distant cañon. Her one consolation was to be out of the house: she drove, or she rode the pretty little mare which Robert had chosen so lovingly for her, and sometimes she strolled, taking with her a stout stick in case she came across any snakes. Nellie, the pointer, who had fretted piteously since Robert’s death, went with her, and whatever she did, the dog was always to be seen following her. Hilda’s health had not suffered from the shock which she had sustained, but she often looked anxious and desolate, and some of the people who saw her, thought she had changed sadly. They said that was not to be wondered at, considering the sad circumstances of her husband’s death, and the long continuance of the railway strike, which made it impossible for her to join her friends. But one evening whilst she was sitting on the honeysuckle porch, Holles rode up waving a paper in his hands.