"We're going back to the Golden Age, you and I, and David. We'll live as we want, not the way other people want us to. When we get to California we'll build a house somewhere by a river and we'll plant our seeds and have vines growing over it and a garden in the front, and Daddy John will break Julia's spirit and harness her to the plow. Then when the house gets too small--houses have a way of doing that--I'll build a little cabin by the edge of the river, and you and David will have the house to yourselves where the old, white-headed doctor won't be in the way." He smiled for the joy of his picture, and she turned her head from him, seeing the prospect through clouded eyes. "You'll never go out of my house," she said in a low voice. "Other spirits will come into it and fill it up." A wish that anything might stop the slow advance to this roseate future choked her. She sat with averted face wrestling with her sick distaste, and heard him say: "You don't know how happy you're going to be, my little Missy." She could find no answer, and he went on: "You have everything for it, health and youth and a pure heart and David for your mate." She had to speak now and said with urgence, trying to encourage herself, since no one else could do it for her, "But that's all in the future, a long time from now." "Not so very long. We ought to be in California in five or six weeks." To have the dreaded reality suddenly brought so close, set at the limit of a few short weeks, grimly waiting at a definite point in the distance, made her repugnance break loose in alarmed words. "Longer than that," she cried. "The desert's the hardest place, and we'll go slow, very slow, there." "You sound as if you wanted to go slow," he answered, his smile indulgently quizzical, as completely shut away from her, in his man's ignorance, as though no bond of love and blood held them together. "No, no, of course not," she faltered. "But I'm not at all sure we'll get through it so easily. I'm making allowance for delays. There are always delays." "Yes, there may be delays, but we'll hope to be one of the lucky trains and get through on time." She swallowed dryly, her heart gone down too far to be plucked up by futile contradition [Transcriber's note: contradiction?]. He mused a moment, seeking the best method of broaching a subject that had been growing in his mind for the past week. Frankness seemed the most simple, and he said: "I've something to suggest to you. I've been thinking of it since we left the Pass. Bridger is a large post. They say there are trains there from all over the West and people of all sorts, and quite often there are missionaries." "Missionaries?" in a faint voice. "Yes, coming in and going out to the tribes of the Northwest. Suppose we found one there when we arrived?" He stopped, watching her. "Well?" her eyes slanted sideways in a fixity of attention. "Would you marry David? Then we could all go on together."