He did not speak, gripped by his internal torment, aggravated now by
torment from without. He wondered, if he told her the truth, would she
understand and help him to peace. But he knew that such knowledge
would set her in a new attitude toward him, an attitude of secret
judgment, of distracted pity, of an agonized partisanship built on
loyalty and the despairing passion of the disillusioned. He could
never tell her, for he could never support the loss of her devoted
belief, which was now the food of his life.
"Can I go?" she said, turning to look at him, smiling confidently as
one who knows the formal demand unnecessary.
"If you want," he answered.
"Then we'll start to-morrow," she said, and, leaning down, kissed him.
He was unresponsive to the touch of her lips, lay inert as she nestled
down into soft-breathing, child-like sleep. He watched the tent
opening pale into a glimmering triangle wondering what their life would
be with the specter of David standing in the path, an angel with a
flaming sword barring the way to Paradise.
Two days later she and Daddy John, sitting on the front seat of the
wagon, saw the low drab outlines of the Fort rising from the plain.
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