The close walls of the ravine shut in her voice; the thickets muffled it; the splash and gurgle of the tumbling water drowned it out. She stood very still, hushed; now suddenly the silence, the loneliness, the bigness of the wilderness closed in about her. She looked about fearfully, half expecting to see men spring out from behind every boulder or tree trunk. She longed suddenly to see Babe Deveril coming up along the creek to her. She was tempted to break into a run racing back to him. She caught herself up short. All this was only a foolish flurry in her breast, conjured up by that sudden realization of loneliness when her quickened voice died away into the whispered hush of the still solitudes. For an instant that feeling of being alone had overpowered her, or threatened to do so; then her only thought had been of Babe Deveril; she could have rushed fairly into his arms, so did her emotions drive her. Now she found time to puzzle over herself; it struck her now, for the first time, how she had fled unquestioningly into this wilderness with a man. A man whom she did not even know. That hasty headlong act of hers would seem to indicate a trust of a sort. But did she actually trust Babe Deveril, with those keen, cutting eyes of his and the way he had of looking at a girl, and the whole of his reckless and dare-devil personality? Lynette Brooke had not lived in a cave all of her brief span of life; nor had she grown into slim girlhood and the full bud of her glorious youth without more than one look into a mirror. Vapidly vain she was not; but clear-visioned she was, and she knew and was glad for the vital, vivid beauty which was hers and thanked God for it. And she glimpsed, if somewhat vaguely, that to a man like Babe Deveril, taking life lightly, there was no lure beyond that of red lips and sparkling eyes. How far could she be sure of him? She went back with slow steps to her trout; she was glad that Babe Deveril had not heard and come running to her just then. But when Deveril did come, carrying two gleaming trout, she masked her misgivings and lifted a laughing face toward his triumphant one. "We eat, Lynette!" he announced gaily. Suddenly his eyes warmed to the picture she made, paying swift tribute to the tousled, flushed beauty of her. His glance left her face and ran swiftly down her form; she felt suddenly as though her wet clothing were plastered tight to her. "You can finish this," she told him swiftly, "if you want to take any more fish." "But, look here! Where are you going? Breakfast...." Her teeth were beginning to chatter. "I'm going to try to get dry. You can start breakfast or...."