"Yet Cordelia was misjudged very wickedly, and traduced very ungallantly,
and so am I. And I bid you good-day, sir."
Her delicate laugh rings in my ears as I write. I think that sun and
clear skies and hills go far to make us cheerful and harmonious. Somehow,
I always remember her as she was that morning.
She was standing then on the brink of a new and beautiful experience, at
the threshold of an acknowledged love. And that is a remarkable time to
the young.
There was something thrilling about the experiences of that morning, and
I think we all felt it. Even the great frowning precipices seemed to have
lost their ordinary gloom, and when some young white eagles rose from a
crag and flew away, growing smaller as they passed, until they were one
with the snow of the glacier on Mount Trinity, or a wapiti peeped out
from the underwood and stole away with glancing feet down the valley; we
could scarcely refrain from doing some foolish thing out of sheer
delight. At length we emerged from a thicket of Douglas pine upon the
shore of the Whi-Whi, and, loosening our boat, were soon moving slowly on
the cool current.
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