So Tim passed me. He went on toward the village, singing cheerfully
for company's sake, and I stood alone, in the shadow of the
school-house woods, listening. His song died away. I fancied I heard
the beat of his stick on the bridge; then there was silence.
I turned. Through the pines on the eastward ridge the moon was
climbing, and now the white road stretched away before me. It was the
road to her house. The light that gleamed at the head of the hill was
her light, and many a night in this same spot I had stopped to take a
last look at it. It used to wink so softly to me as I waved a hand in
good-night. Now it seemed to leer. The friendly beacon on the hill
had become a wrecker's lantern. A battered hulk of a man, here I was,
stranded by the school-house. As the ship on the beach pounds
helplessly to and fro, now trying to drive itself farther into its
prison, now struggling to break the chains that hold it, so tossed
about my love and anger, I turned my face now toward the hill, now
toward the village.
Pages:
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240