In his voluntary exile he had not looked for or wanted the
company of his fellows. Now he began to soften under it, shift his
viewpoint from that of the all-sufficing individual to that of the
bonded mass from which he had so long been an alien. The girl's
influence had revivified a side almost atrophied by disuse. Men's were
aiding it. As her sympathies narrowed under the obsession of her
happiness, his expanded, awaked by a reversion to forgotten conditions.
One night, lying beside her under the tent's roof, he found himself
wakeful. It was starless and still, the song of the river fusing in a
continuous flow of low sound with the secret, self-communings of the
tree. The girl's light breathing was at his ear, a reminder of his
ownership and its responsibilities. In the idleness of the unoccupied
mind he mused on the future they were to share till death should come
between. It was pleasant thinking, or so it began. Then, gradually,
something in the darkness and the lowered vitality of night caused it
to lose its joy, become suffused by a curious, doubting uneasiness. He
lay without moving, given up to the strange feeling, not knowing what
induced it or from whence it came.
Pages:
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505