noon
But Cartwell watched the girl with inscrutable gaze . Rhoda still hated the desert . The very unchanging loveliness of the days wearied her . Morning succeeded morning and noon followed noon , with always the same soft breeze stirring the orchard , always the clear yellow sunlight burning and dazzling her eyes , always the unvarying monotony of bleating sheep and lowing herds and at evening the hoot of owls . The brooding tenderness of the sky she did not see . The throbbing of the great , quiet southern stars stirred her only with a sense of helpless loneliness that was all but unendurable . And still , from who knows what source , she found strength to meet the days and her friends with that unfailing sweetness that was as poignant as the clinging fingers of a sick child .