Papa Wolf, established once more, Ernest took a turn or two up and down the room, coming finally to a stop before the empty fire place. Roger, looking at his chum closely, realized suddenly that Ernest had aged in the past few months. There were lines around his eyes and his lips. Ernest looked from his father to his mother with a little smile. "Roger and I, in spite of our thirty years, were unsophisticated kids when we came into this country. I think we're grown up now. I think we're pretty certain to go a straight and decent trail to the end. But that I came mighty near to going a forbidden trail as Roger calls it, is your fault, Papa--and yours, Dean Erskine." He paused and although the Dean and Ernest's father looked at each other in amazement, neither interrupted and the younger man went on. "I never saw death until I came down here--I never knew love. I never knew real work. But here I have learned all three. We have lived here with an intensity as great as the heat. The--the primal passions have shaken us, Papa--and burned us clean--You know some creeds speak of Christ's hours between the Last Supper and His death as the passion of the cross. Sometimes I feel as if I could call my months down here my passion of the desert." Again Ernest paused, and those who had lived with him through these months of passion--passion of joy, of fear, of sorrow, of love, of personal grief and of world pain, listened with astonishment that jovial, easy-going Ernest should have felt as deeply as they. "Mrs. von Minden died first. Roger and Dick found her dead up in a remote canyon. She had thirsted to death. I wrote Elsa of her but not of her death. That would have set you to worrying about me, Muetterchen. She had the little black box with her that I wrote Elsa she had demanded from her husband. Whether she found in it what she wanted no one will ever know. But her death ended one of those strange, feverish life dramas that this trackless desert is always turning up. Next they found Von Minden, alone except for Peter. (You must meet Peter, Papa.) He probably died of heart failure. We don't know how she got the box away from him. Maybe she poisoned him. And next Felicia,--Felicia was exactly as Charley was, Mamma, when she used to come to play with us in the pool." Ernest looked at Charley--"I've got to talk about her, Charley, to make them understand." Charley moistened her lips, but nodded and Dick put his hand over his eyes. "She was like Charley too in that she was the kind of a girl that decent men instinctively love--not with one of these headlong, unreasoning loves, you understand. But with the kind of a deep-seated adoration for beauty and goodness and brain that gets a man where he lives and never leaves him. That's the way I got to caring for Charley and that's the way, in embryo, we all loved Felicia.