She was gone; and Halloran went outside and paced the veranda, alone with a cigar. His regular footfall sounded for a long time--during two cigars, in fact; and the thoughts he finally carried to bed with him were not the sort to put him into a condition for the diplomacy the morrow was to demand. In the morning, long before daylight he was up and dressed. He breakfasted late to avoid the climbing party, and from his window he watched them start up the road. He saw Green take Margaret's jacket and tie the sleeves through his belt. An annoying fellow he was with his easy manners, his faultless clothes, his calm reserve. He grated on Halloran; he reminded him of his own blunt western way; he forced him to recall again those rough antecedents of his. And that Halloran was keen enough to recognize the difference, indefinable as it seemed, aggravated matters. For an hour or so he sat in the library and tried to read, but failed. He thought a little fresh air might fix him up, and he went out for a six-mile tramp up the Panther Kill, through the ravine where the rock walls shine with moisture, and the trout lie deep in the pools below the falls, and the trees mat closely to shut out the day; but this was worse than the book. He came back over a spur of the Panther Mountain and here he had his first occupation of the day, scrambling up the ledges, fighting through the brambles, placing his feet carefully on the treacherous moss-covered rocks; here drawing himself by a finger grip up a sheer precipice, there elbowing up a chimney. He reached the top of the ridge and plunged down through the forest. He saw a clearing ahead, and, pushing on, found the whole valley spread out below, the stream splashing and glittering in the sun, the white road winding out here and there from the shelter of the trees, and all the tumbling mountain land blazing with colour. To the south towered the Wittenberg, to the north lay the peaceful slopes of North Dome and Mount Sheridan. He was knee-deep in fragrant mint, and surrounded by droning bees. A look, and he was crashing on, covered with thistledown from the tangle of brush. It was a pleasure to jump the great hemlock logs that the tanners had left to rot thirty years before. Once a birch of six inches diameter snapped off short under his hand and gave him a tumble and a roll down the slope. He got up, shook out his joints and went on with a laugh, chasing a porcupine that lumbered off and tried to hide its head under a stone. And when at last he ran out into the upper meadows behind the house he was no longer thinking of Green.