He slipped from beside the fire and into the shadow of
a steep rock, watching with eyes that almost pierced the dark on
all sides.
And there he saw her creeping up on the outskirts of the firelight,
prone on her hands and knees, dragging herself up like a young wildcat
hunting prey; it was the glimmer of her eyes that he caught first
through the gloom. A cold thought came to him that she had returned
with her gun ready.
Inch by inch she came closer, and now he was aware of her restless
glances probing on all sides of the camp-fire. Silence--only the
crackling of a pitchy stick. And then he heard a muffled sound, soft,
soft as the beating of a heart in the night, and regularly pulsing. It
hurt him infinitely, and he called gently: "Jack, why are
you weeping?"
She started up with her fingers twisted at the butt of her gun.
"It's a lie," called a tremulous voice. "Why should I weep?"
And then she ran to him.
"Oh, Pierre, I thought you were gone!"
That silence which came between them was thick with understanding
greater than speech.
Pages:
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213