The San Francisco call., 1904-02-28
CHAPTER w.
90 ENCHANTED WINTER.

THE ENCHANTED WINTER.
I choose to be yours for my proper part.
Yours leave me or take, or mar OF make;
II I acquiesce why should you be teased
With the conscience prick and the memory
snnart?'' Browning.
Fletcher had gone silently and with
out leaving a trace, and with him the
money. 1t was a startling situation for
Moreau. From comparative afluence
he suddenly found himself without a
cent or an ounce of dust. This, had he
had only himself to look after would
not have affected his free and jovial
spirits, but now the woman and the
child he had so carelessly come into
possession Of loomed before him in
their true light of a heavy responsible
ity. Lucy, as far as supporting herself
went, was still long way of from the
state Of health where that would be
possible. And at the thought Of send
ing her forth. even though she were
cured OF her inf1rmities, Moreau expert
enced a sensation Of depression. He
felt that the cabin would be unbearably
lonely when she and the baby were
gone.
That night under the pine he turned
over the situation IN his mind. The
was nothing better to be done than stay
by the stream bed and work 1t for all
it was worth Lucy would continue 10
improve in the fine air and the child
was thriving. II the SHOWS would hold
off till late, as they had done In the
open winter Of so, he could anass q
fair share Of dust before IT would be
necessary to move Lucy and the baby
to the superior accommodations OF
Hangtown or Sacramento. II was now
October. In November one might ex-
pect the first SHOWS.
He must do a good deal in the next
six weeks. This he started to do. Tho
next day he spent In raising a brush
shed against the back Of the cabin
where the chimney would offer warmth
on cold nights. Into this he moved
such few belongings as he had retained
after Lucy and the baby had taken
possession Of the cabin. Then the
working Of the stream bed went on
with renewed vigor. The water was
low, hardly more than a thread, render
ing the washing OF the dirt harder
labor than during the earlier summer
when the water courses were still full.
But he toiled nightly, rejoicing IN
the splendor Of his mans work, not
with the same knightly freedom that he
felt when he had been that king Of men.
the miner with his pick on his shoulder
and all the world before him. but with
the soberer Joy Of the man into whose
life others have entered to lay hold
upon it with light, cllnging hands.
Against the complete and perfect
loneliness Of his life the woman and
child. who had started up from no.
where, stood out as figures OF vital
significance. They had grown closer TO
him In that one months isolation than
they would have done in a year OF city
life. The child became the object of his
secret but deep devotion. He had been
ashamed to let Fletcher see il. Now
that Fletcher was gone, Moreau often
stole up from his work In the creek to
look at it as ii sleep in box by the
open door. 1t was as fresh as a rose
bud, its skin clean md satiny, its tiny
hands, crumpled, white and pink, like
the petals Of flowers. The big man
leaned on his shovel to watch Ii ador-
ingly The miracle Of its growth in
beauty never lost its wonder for him
Lucy, too, grew and blOOmed in these
quiet autumn days. Never talkative.
she became less laconic after the de-
parture of Fletcher. She seemed re-
lieved by his absence. MOreau begun
to understand, as he saw her daily in
crease in freshness and youthful
charm, that she was as young IN ma
ture as she was in years. Points OF
character that were touchingIy child
ish appeared in her. Her casting OF all
responsibility on him was as absolute