Love was too strong in her for open opposition, but the instinct to
fight, blindly but with caution, for the right to herself was stronger.
His murmuring died into silence and she looked at him. His eyes were
closed, the pressure of his fingers loosened. A light sleep held him,
and under its truce she softly withdrew her hand, then stole to the
tent door and stood there a waiting moment, stifling her hurried
breathing. She saw David lying by the fire, gazing into its smoldering
heart. With noiseless feet she skirted the encircling ropes and pegs,
and stood, out of range of his eye, on the farther side. Here she
stopped, withdrawn from the light that came amber soft through the
canvas walls, slipping into shadow when a figure passed, searching the
darkness with peering eyes.
Around her the noises of the camp rose, less sharp than an hour
earlier, the night silence gradually hushing them. The sparks and
shooting gleams of fires still quivered, imbued with a tenacious life.
She had a momentary glimpse of a naked Indian boy flinging loose his
blanket, a bronze statue glistening in a leap of flame.
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