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down in an aspen…grove at the edge of a senaca； and there
lie in that radiance like a veil of gold and purple and red；
with the white tree…trunks striping the shade。 Always；
whether there were breeze or not； the aspen…leaves quivered；
ceaselessly； wonderfully； like his pulses； beyond his
control。 Often he reclined against a mossy rock beside a
mountain stream to listen； to watch； to feel all that was
there； while his mind held a haunting； dark…eyed vision of a
girl。 On the lonely heights； like an eagle； he sat gazing
down into Paradise Park； that was more and more beautiful；
but would never again be the same； never fill him with
content； never be all and all to him。
Late in October the first snow fell。 It melted at once on
the south side of the park； but the north slopes and the
rims and domes above stayed white。
Dale had worked quick and hard at curing and storing his
winter supply of food； and now he spent days chopping and
splitting wood to burn during the months he would be
snowed…in。 He watched for the dark…gray； fast…scudding
storm…clouds； and welcomed them when they came。 Once there
lay ten feet of snow on the trails he would be snowed…in
until spring。 It would be impossible to go down to Pine。 And
perhaps during the long winter he would be cured of this
strange； nameless disorder of his feelings。
November brought storms up on the peaks。 Flurries of snow
fell in the park every day； but the sunny south side； where
Dale's camp lay； retained its autumnal color and warmth。 Not
till late in winter did the snow creep over this secluded
nook。
The morning came at last； piercingly keen and bright； when
Dale saw that the heights were impassable； the realization
brought him a poignant regret。 He had not guessed how he had
wanted to see Helen Rayner again until it was too late。 That
opened his eyes。 A raging frenzy of action followed； in
which he only tired himself physically without helping
himself spiritually。
It was sunset when he faced the west； looking up at the pink
snow…domes and the dark…golden fringe of spruce； and in that
moment he found the truth。
〃I love that girl！ I love that girl！〃 he spoke aloud； to the
distant white peaks； to the winds； to the loneliness and
silence of his prison； to the great pines and to the
murmuring stream； and to his faithful pets。 It was his
tragic confession of weakness； of amazing truth； of hopeless
position； of pitiful excuse for the transformation wrought
in him。
Dale's struggle ended there when he faced his soul。 To
understand himself was to be released from strain； worry；
ceaseless importuning doubt and wonder and fear。 But the
fever of unrest； of uncertainty； had been nothing compared
to a sudden upflashing torment of love。
With somber deliberation he set about the tasks needful； and
others that he might make his camp…fires and meals； the
care of his pets and horses； the mending of saddles and
pack…harness； the curing of buckskin for moccasins and
hunting…suits。 So his days were not idle。 But all this work
was habit for him and needed no application of mind。
And Dale； like some men of lonely wilderness lives who did
not retrograde toward the savage； was a thinker。 Love made
him a sufferer。
The surprise and shame of his unconscious surrender； the
certain hopelessness of it； the long years of communion with
all that was wild； lonely； and beautiful； the wonderfully
developed insight into nature's secrets； and the
sudden…dawning revelation that he was no omniscient being
exempt from the ruthless ordinary destiny of man all
these showed him the strength of his manhood and of his
passion； and that the life he had chosen was of all lives
the one calculated to make love sad and terrible。
Helen Rayner haunted him。 In the sunlight there was not a
place around camp which did not picture her lithe； vigorous
body； her dark； thoughtful eyes； her eloquent； resolute
lips； and the smile that was so sweet and strong。 At night
she was there like a slender specter； pacing beside him
under the moaning pines。 Every camp…fire held in its heart
the glowing white radiance of her spirit。
Nature had taught Dale to love solitude and silence； but
love itself taught him their meaning。 Solitude had been
created for the eagle on his crag； for the blasted mountain
fir； lonely and gnarled on its peak； for the elk and the
wolf。 But it had not been intended for man。 And to live
always in the silence of wild places was to become obsessed
with self to think and dream to be happy； which state；
however pursued by man； was not good for him。 Man must be
given imperious longings for the unattainable。
It needed； then； only the memory of an unattainable woman to
render solitude passionately desired by a man； yet almost
unendurable。 Dale was alone with his secret； and every pine；
everything in that park saw him shaken and undone。
In the dark； pitchy deadness of night； when there was no
wind and the cold on the peaks had frozen the waterfall；
then the silence seemed insupportable。 Many hours that
should have been given to slumber were paced out under the
cold； white； pitiless stars； under the lonely pines。
Dale's memory betrayed him； mocked his restraint； cheated
him of any peace； and his imagination； sharpened by love；
created pictures； fancies； feelings； that drove him frantic。
He thought of Helen Rayner's strong； shapely brown hand。 In
a thousand different actions it haunted him。 How quick and
deft in camp…fire tasks！ how graceful and swift as she
plaited her dark hair！ how tender and skilful in its
ministration when one of his pets had been injured！ how
eloquent when pressed tight against her breast in a moment
of fear on the dangerous heights！ how expressive of
unutterable things when laid on his arm！
Dale saw that beautiful hand slowly creep up his arm； across
his shoulder； and slide round his neck to clasp there。 He
was powerless to inhibit the picture。 And what he felt then
was boundless； unutterable。 No woman had ever yet so much as
clasped his hand； and heretofore no such imaginings had ever
crossed his mind； yet deep in him； somewhere hidden； had
been this waiting； sweet； and imperious need。 In the bright
day he appeared to ward off such fancies； but at night he
was helpless。 And every fancy left him weaker； wilder。
When； at the culmination of this phase of his passion； Dale；
who had never known the touch of a woman's lips； suddenly
yielded to the illusion of Helen Rayner's kisses； he found
himself quite mad； filled with rapture and despair； loving
her as he hated himself。 It seemed as if he had experienced
all these terrible feelings in some former life and had
forgotten them in this life。 He had no right to think of
her； but he could not resist it。 Imagining the sweet
surrender of her lips was a sacrilege； yet here； in spite of
will and honor and shame； he was lost。
Dale； at length； was vanquished； and he ceased to rail at
himself； or restrain his fancies。 He became a dreamy；
sad…eyed； camp…fire gazer； like many another lonely man；
separated； by chance or error； from what the heart hungered
most for。 But this gre