"Good-by,
and good luck," she said in a low voice as she brushed by. His
"good-by" came back to her instilled with a new meaning. The reserve
between them was gone. Separated as the poles, they had suddenly
entered within the circle of an intimacy that had snapped round them
and shut them in. Her surroundings fell into far perspective, losing
their menace. She did not care where she was or how she fared. An
indifference to all that had seemed unbearable, uplifted her. It was
like an emergence from cramped confines to wide, inspiring spaces. He
and she were there--the rest was nothing.
Sitting beside David she could see the rider's figure grow small, as it
receded across the plain. The night had come and the great level
brooded solemn under the light of the first, serene stars. In the
middle of the camp Daddy John's fire flared, the central point of
illumination in a ring of fluctuant yellow. Touched and lost by its
waverings the old man's figure came and went, absorbed in outer
darkness, then revealed his arms extended round sheaves of brush.
David turned and lay on his side looking at her.
Pages:
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444