There had been moments when Kenneth's love for Esther had led him to speak dearer words to her than her apparent interest in him would warrant. At such times she would retire within herself, surrounded by an impenetrable reserve. Kenneth Hastings was the only one she ever treated icily. One day he would be transported to the seventh heaven; another, he would sink to the deeps of gloom. It was several days after this ride that he chanced to meet Esther in the path along the river road. He stopped her, and asked abruptly: "Why do you treat me so frigidly sometimes?" "Do I?" she asked in surprise. He remained silent. "Do I?" she said, repeating her question. "Yes, you do. Why do you treat me so?" She looked distressed. "I didn't realize I had treated you discourteously, Mr. Hastings. If I did, it was because I am afraid of you." "Preposterous! Afraid of me!" Now he was smiling. "Perhaps--" As she hesitated, she looked up at him in an appealing manner. "Perhaps what?" "Perhaps it is because you have given me a glimpse of your own heart, and have--" "Have what?" "--asked me to reveal mine to you. I can't." "In other words, you do not love me?" "I honor you as I do several people I know. Nothing more." There was a long pause. Kenneth was the first to speak. "Your friendship! Am I to be deprived of that, too?" "My friendship is already yours," she said. "You know that." "I thank you. I need hardly tell you that your friendship is the dearest thing I know." Then Kenneth left her, and she walked on alone. But still those words kept repeating themselves in her mind like a haunting melody, "Your friendship is the dearest thing I know!" and, like Banquo's ghost, they would not down. CHAPTER XII CHRISTMAS DAY It was Christmas morning, early. Not a leaf was stirring. The stillness seemed aware. The sun rose in solemn majesty, heralded by scarlet runners of the sky. Just as it burst forth from behind the sleeping mountains, a splendor of coloring beyond the power of man to describe flooded the earth and the covering dome of the heavens. Then the snowy mountain peaks, grim sentinels of the ages, grew royal in crimson and gold. And the far-stretching valley, where the soft gray of dead gramma grass was relieved by the yellowish tint of desert soil, took on the glory of the morning. From zenith to horizon, the crystal clearness seemed for one supreme moment ashine with sifted gold. But, as if to protect the eyes of man from the too great splendor of this anniversary of Christ's natal day, a faint purple veil of haze dropped over the distant mountains. The waters of the Gila caught the glory of the morning, and became molten gold. When the Gilaites awakened, the gladness of the morning was upon them; and men and women remembered, some of them for the first time in years, that it was Christmas day, and went about with "Merry Christmas" on their lips.