But I couldn't write about it." She had felt it, too, and more than once had sat down with her pencil to transcribe her thoughts.

She thought that it was not exactly fear, but an overpowering realization of her own atomity; a sort of cringing of the soul away from the utter vastness of the world; a growing consciousness of the unlimited bigness of things; an insight of the infinite power of God--the yearning of the soul for understanding of the mysteries of life and existence.
She could sympathize with him, for she knew exactly how he had felt.
She turned and looked toward the distant mountains, behind which the sun was just then swimming--a great ball of shimmering gold, which threw off an effulgent expanse of yellow light that was slowly turning into saffron and violet as it met the shadows below the hills.
"Whoever saw such colors ?" she asked suddenly, her face transfixed with sheer delight.
"It's cert'nly pretty, ma'am." She clapped her hands.

"It is magnificent!" she declared enthusiastically.

She came closer to him and stretched an arm toward the mountains.

"Look at that saffron shade which is just now blending with the streak of pearl striking the cleft between those hills! See the violet tinge that has come into that sea of orange, and the purple haze touching the snow-caps of the mountains.