The Riddle of Three-Way Creek by Ridgwell Cullum

Three days later Blanche's labours had borne that ample fruit she had looked for. She had known that Nature would fulfil her good work if only she could uproot the mental tares that threatened to grow up in the fruitful soil of Molly's mind. After the first break through of the barrier of the girl's reticence Blanche had laboured incessantly, with tact and imagination. She had given the girl no excuse for further unhealthy brooding on the disaster into which her love had plunged her. And Molly's natural courage had been her staunch ally.

Had Molly been weakly sentimental, had she obtained her early schooling in anything less rugged than her mountain world, the task might well have been more difficult. But Molly was of the very essence of the mountains. Her emotions of love and passionate resentment, and even hate, were strong, and as irresistible as the torrential mountain streams. Her love knew no bounds. Her generosity was no less. And, equally, when stirred to passionate anger, her mood was without mercy. Now her anger and hate were as deeply stirred as had been her love for the man who had betrayed her. And her salvation in those early days lay in the tremendous reaction of it all, and in the manner in which Blanche's sympathy convinced her that her girlish weakness, however to be regretted, was no crime in the eyes of God and humanity.