Gathering Clouds

It was better when he struck the woods, for there was shade; but the air
was more sultry and the added exertion of climbing started the
perspiration and turned the coating of dust to sticky grime. Still the
breeze delayed, and the fragrant odors of the woods were cloying. His
luggage grew heavier and yet more heavy; his arm and back began to ache
painfully.

When physical discomfort is accompanied by morose introspection, the
result is certain to be unpleasant, and Donald's thoughts were in dismal
grays and browns, which ill-matched the radiant colors of external
nature.

Certainly Smiles was not to blame, he thought, as he trudged up and up.
The fact still remained that they lived on utterly different planes, and
that he had not the slightest idea of falling in love with her, or, even
mentally, violating his pledge to Marion. Pshaw, she was nothing but a
child! It was foolish, absurdly so, yet somehow he felt that his world
was out of joint, and, since he could not, or would not, determine just
what the trouble was, he could not take active measures to bring about a
readjustment.

With a conscious effort of his will he put the mountain child out of his
thoughts, and attempted to analyze his real feelings for the city girl,
to whom he was betrothed. He could assign no reason to the vague, but
persistent, feeling which frequently possessed him, when he was apart
from her, that she was not his natural mate. Her poise and reserve,
which sometimes irritated him, he knew to be really virtues, in a way as
desirable as they were rare in women, even of her class; her unusual
beauty fully satisfied his eye; she was a reigning queen, the desired of
many men and he had won her, although he hesitated a little over the
word "won." Finally, he was certain that she loved him, after her
fashion. Why should he, a man as reserved as he was, and one who had
little time to spend on the romantic embellishments of life, ask for
more? Yet there was mute rebellion in the depths of his heart, and even
the memory of that milestone night, eight months before, when the spirit
of Christmastide had added its spell to the influences of life-long
propinquity, and they had, almost without spoken words, crossed the
border and pledged themselves to one another, brought no thrill.