She leaned forward,
dragging it awkwardly toward her, clutching at an alder stem with her
free hand. Her head was bent, but she raised it with a jerk when she
heard Courant's voice call, "Wait, I'll do it for you."
He was on the opposite bank, the trees he had broken through swishing
together behind him. She lowered her head without answering, her face
suddenly charged with color. Seized by an overmastering desire to
escape him, she dragged at the pail, which, caught in the force of the
current, leaped and swayed in her hand. She took a hurried upward
glimpse, hopeful of his delayed progress, and saw him jump from the
bank to a stone in mid-stream. His moccasined feet clung to its
slippery surface, and for a moment he oscillated unsteadily, then
gained his balance and, laughing, looked at her. For a breathing space
each rested motionless, she with strained, outstretched arm, he on the
rock, a film of water covering his feet. It was a moment of physical
mastery without conscious thought. To each the personality of the
other was so perturbing, that without words or touch, the heart beats
of both grew harder, and their glances held in a gaze fixed and
gleaming.
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