For he had thought less of all the world because he had
thought so little of himself. He had overestimated his own faults, had
made them into crimes in his own eyes, and, observing things in others of
similar import, had become almost a cynic in intellect, while in heart he
had remained, a boy.
In all that he had changed a great deal. His heart was still the heart
of a boy, but his intellect had sobered, softened, ripened--even in this
secluded and seemingly unimportant life; as Sally had said and hoped it
would. Sally's conviction had been right. But the triumph was not yet
achieved. She knew it. On occasion the tones of his voice told her, the
look that came into his eyes proclaimed it to her, his feverishness and
restlessness made it certain. How many a night had she thrown her arm
over his shoulder, and sought his hand and held it while in the dark
silence, wide-eyed, dry-lipped, and with a throat like fire he had held
himself back from falling. There was liquor in the house--the fight
would not have been a fight without it. She had determined that he
should see his enemy and meet him in the plains and face him down; and he
was never many feet away from his possible disaster.
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