Now they
were nothing to me, but as the peals changed to great crashes as of
falling cities, I marveled to see my wife sleeping so quietly. The
rain began to fall, slowly, in large sullen drops, and I rose to cover
her with my cloak. Then I saw that the sleep was feigned, for she
was gazing at the storm with wide eyes, though with no fear in
their dark depths. When I moved they closed, and when I reached
her the lashes still swept her cheeks, and she breathed evenly
through parted lips. But, against her will, she shrank from my
touch as I put the cloak about her; and when I had returned to my
seat, I bent to one side and saw, as I had expected to see, that her
eyes were wide open again. If she had been one whit less beautiful,
I would have wished her back at Jamestown, back on the Atlantic,
back at whatever outlandish place, where manners were unknown,
that had owned her and cast her out. Pride and temper! I set my
lips, and vowed that she should find her match.
The storm did not last. Ere we had reached Piersey's the rain had
ceased and the clouds were breaking; above Chaplain's Choice
hung a great rainbow; we passed Tants Weyanoke in the glory of
the sunset, all shattered gold and crimson. Not a word had been
spoken. I sat in a humor grim enough, and she lay there before me,
wide awake, staring at the shifting banks and running water, and
thinking that I thought she slept.
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