THE NEW DAY
The slapping of the wind against the tent awakened Beatrice. She could
hear it soughing gently through the branches of the live oaks. An
outflung arm discovered Clay missing.
Presently she rose, sleep not yet brushed fully from her eyes, drew the
tent flaps together modestly under her chin, and looked out upon a
world which swam in the enchanted light of a dawn primeval. The
eastern sky was faintly pink with the promise of a coming sun. The
sweet, penetrating lilt of the lark flung greeting at her.
Her questing glance found Clay, busy over the mesquite fire upon which
he was cooking breakfast. She watched him move about, supple and light
and strong, and her heart lifted with sheer joy of the mate she had
chosen. He was such a man among men, this clear-eyed, bronzed husband
of a week. He was so clean and simple and satisfying. As she closed
the flaps she gave a deep sigh of content.
Every minute till she joined him was begrudged. For Beatrice had
learned the message of her heart. She knew that she was wholly and
completely in love with what life had brought her.
The hubbub of the city seemed to her now so small and so petty. Always
she had known a passionate love of things fine and good. But
civilization had thwarted her purposes, belittled her expression of
them. Environment had driven her into grooves of convention. Here at
last she was free.
And she was amazingly, radiantly happy. What did motor-cars or
wine-suppers or Paris gowns matter? They were the trappings that
stressed her slavery. Here she moved beside her mate without fear or
doubt in a world wonderful. Eye to eye, they spoke the truth to each
other after the fashion of brave, simple souls.
Glowing from the ice-cold bath of water from a mountain stream, she
stepped down the slope into a slant of sunshine to join Clay. He
looked up from the fire and waved a spoon gayly at her. For he too was
as jocund as the day which stood tiptoe on the misty mountain-tops.
They had come into the hills to spend their honeymoon alone together,
and life spoke to him in accents wholly joyous.
The wind and sun caressed her. As she moved toward him, a breath of
the morning flung the gown about her so that each step modeled anew the
slender limbs.
Her husband watched the girl streaming down the slope. Love swift as
old wine flooded his veins. He rose, caught her to him, and looked
down into the deep, still eyes that were pools of happiness.
"Are you glad--glad all through, sweetheart?" he demanded.
A little laugh welled from her throat. She gave him a tender, mocking
smile.
"I hope heaven's like this," she whispered.
"You don't regret New York--not a single, hidden longing for it 'way
down deep in yore heart?"
She shook her head. "I always wanted to be rescued from the
environment that was stifling me, but I didn't know a way of escape
till you came," she said.
"Then you knew it?"
"From the moment I saw you tie the janitor to the hitching-post. You
remember I was waiting to go riding with Mr. Bromfield. Well, I was
bored to death with correct clothes and manners and thinking. I knew
just what he would say to me and how he would say it and what I would
answer. Then you walked into the picture and took me back to nature."
"It was the hitching-post that did it, then?"
"The hitching-post began it, anyhow." She slipped her arms around his
neck and held him fast. "Oh, Clay, isn't it just too good to be true?"
A ball of fire pushed up into the crotch between two mountain-peaks and
found them like a searchlight, filling their little valley with a
golden glow.
The new day summoned them to labor and play and laughter, perhaps to
tears and sorrow too. But the joy of it was that the call came to them
both. They moved forward to life together.