She felt shut in from the
world, lost in an unscalable rut of the earth. Again the sunlight had
failed, and the gray gloom of the canyon oppressed her. It struck Carley as
singular that she could not help being affected by mere weather, mere
heights and depths, mere rock walls and pine trees, and rushing water. For
really, what had these to do with her? These were only physical things that
she was passing. Nevertheless, although she resisted sensation, she was
more and more shot through and through with the wildness and savageness of
this canyon.
A sharp turn of the road to the right disclosed a slope down the creek,
across which showed orchards and fields, and a cottage nestling at the base
of the wall. The ford at this crossing gave Carley more concern than any
that had been passed, for there was greater volume and depth of water. One
of the horses slipped on the rocks, plunged up and on with great splash.
They crossed, however, without more mishap to Carley than further
acquaintance with this iciest of waters. From this point the driver turned
back along the creek, passed between orchards and fields, and drove along
the base of the red wall to come suddenly upon a large rustic house that
had been hidden from Carley's sight.
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