tangles of undergrowth and ferns,—up and up—out from among the trees, onto the open top of the spur and then along this, careless of path or trail, through waist-high rank, dry grasses, crashing through masses of wild lantana that tore and scratched her arms and dazzled her eyes with its gorgeous red and yellow blossoms flaring in the sunlight and caught and dragged her hair into long loose locks as she fled, the choke in her throat making her breath come in great sobs;—on and on, along the top of the spur, until at last she fell exhausted, and lay there in the long grass, quivering and sobbing, her face buried in her arms.
After a long time she sat up and put the hair back out of her eyes, her breath still coming hard, and her face crimson and swollen.
The Dream sat on a boulder beside her. "There is the boy, 'way back there," he said.
Marjorie got slowly to her feet. The boy was standing at the top of the spur,
