It was not possible that he, defiant of man and God, could
languish under this dread of a midnight visitation or a discovery that
never would be made. It was the reentering into the communal life that
had upset his poise--or was it the influence of the woman, the softly
pervasive, enervating influence? He came up against this thought with
a dizzying impact and felt himself droop and sicken as one who is faced
with a task for which his strength is inadequate.
He turned stealthily and lay on his back, his face beaded with sweat.
The girl beside him waked and sat up casting a side glance at him. By
the starlight, slanting in through the raised tent door, she saw his
opened eyes and, leaning toward him, a black shape against the faintly
blue triangle, said:
"Low, are you awake?"
He answered without moving, glad to hear her speak, to know that sleep
had left her and her voice might conjure away his black imaginings.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" she asked. "You must be half dead after
such work as you did today."
"I was thinking--" then hastily, for he was afraid that she might sense
his mood and ply him with sympathetic queries: "Sometimes people are
too tired to sleep.
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