The ideal, however, or rather the
ambition that was its other half, played no part in his mind as his love
deepened. He wanted the woman, and had he suddenly discovered that she
was a changeling born among the people, his love and his determination
to marry her would have abated not a tittle.
His olive-trees were neglected, and he spent the hours of their
separations riding about the country with as little mercy on his horses
as had he been a Californian born. Sometimes, touched by the youthful
fervor in his eyes, Delfina would melt perceptibly and ask him a
question or two about himself, a dazzling favor in one who held that
words were made to rust. And once, when he lifted her off her horse
under the heavy shadow of the trees, she gave him a glance which sent
John far from her side, lest he make a fool of himself before the entire
company. Meanwhile he was not unhappy, in spite of the wildness in his
blood, for he found the tremors of love and hope and fear as sweet as
they were extraordinary.
One evening the climax came.
Delfina expressed a wish to see the lake on the summit of the solitary
peak. It had been discovered by the Indians, but was unknown to the
luxurious Californians.
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