There was plenty
of driftwood, and a brisk fire dispelled some of the discomfort of the
snow, while a change to dry clothing did the rest.
To Enoch it was a strange evening. The foolish quarrel between Harden
and Forrester was sufficient to upset the equanimity of the whole group
which before had seemed so harmonious. The situation was keenly
irritating to Enoch. He wanted nothing to intrude on the wild beauty
of the trip, save his own inward struggle. The snow continued to fall
long after the others had gone to sleep. Enoch, with his diary on his
knees, wrote slowly, pausing long between sentences to watch the snow
and to listen to the solemn rush of waters so close to his feet.
"I've been sitting before the fire, Diana, thinking of our various
conversations. How few they have been, after all! And I've concluded
that in your heart you must look on me as presumptuous and stupid. You
never have given me the slightest indication that you cared for me.
You have been, even in the short time we have known each other, a
gallant and tender friend. A wonderful friend! And you are as
unconscious of my passion for you, of the rending agony of my giving
you up as the Canyon is of the travail of Milton and his little group.
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