He could not bear to be left in the house while
his friend was out in the rain.
He was sure of joining him before he reached the new town, for he
was fleet-footed, and there was a path only on one side of the way,
so that there was no danger of passing him in the dark. As he ran
he heard the moaning of the sea. There must be a storm somewhere,
away in the deep spaces of its dark bosom, and its lips muttered of
its far unrest. When the sun rose it would be seen misty and gray,
tossing about under the one rain cloud that like a thinner ocean
overspread the heavens--tossing like an animal that would fain lie
down and be at peace but could not compose its unwieldy strength.
Suddenly Robert slackened his speed, ceased running, stood, gazed
through the darkness at a figure a few yards before him.
An old wall, bowed out with age and the weight behind it, flanked
the road in this part. Doors in this wall, with a few steps in
front of them and more behind, led up into gardens upon a slope, at
the top of which stood the houses to which they belonged. Against
one of these doors the figure stood with its head bowed upon its
hands. When Robert was within a few feet, it descended and went on.
'Mr. Ericson!' exclaimed Robert. 'Ye'll get yer deith gin ye stan'
that gait i' the weet.'
'Amen,' said Ericson, turning with a smile that glimmered wan
through the misty night. Then changing his tone, he went on: 'What
are you after, Robert?'
'You,' answered Robert.
Pages:
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335