She was nothing but a single rotten thread in a tangled web of love and hate and revenge.

And she had broken.
Lower and lower she seemed to sink.

Was there no end to this gulf of despair?
If Colter had returned he would have found her a rag and a toy--a creature degraded, fit for his vile embrace.

To be thrust deeper into the mire--to be punished fittingly for her betrayal of a man's noble love and her own womanhood--to be made an end of, body, mind, and soul.
But Colter did not return.
The wind mourned, the owls hooted, the leaves rustled, the insects whispered their melancholy night song, the camp-fire flickered and faded.

Then the wild forestland seemed to close imponderably over Ellen.