During the days of absolute rest which followed the journey, Madge's
thoughts were busy. The width of the continent would separate her
from the past and those associated with it. Both the breadth of the
continent and the ocean were between her and him from whom she had
fled; yet he was ever present to her imagination. In this respect the
intervening miles counted for nothing. She had not hoped that they
would. She could conceive of no plan of life that left him out, yet
she felt that she must have some object to look forward to, some
motive for action. The spirit she had recently shown in taking so
decisive a step proved her to possess a latent force of character of
which she herself had not been conscious. She would not sit down to
dream and brood away the future. She could never hope for Graydon
Muir's love. He would soon return to New York, and the idea that
Miss Wildmere or any other girl would remain cold to his suit was
preposterous. Yet if she lived she must meet Graydon again, and she
now felt that she would live. The decision she had manifested at the
crisis of her life was kindling her nature. She was conscious of a
growing inclination to prove to Graydon that she was neither "weak
nor lackadaisical.
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