off me. I was a year and a half there, when -- when
I was younger," he ended lamely.

"I like that," she replied, "I understand it. I've
wanted to murder; but it would have been silly, I
would have had to pay too dearly for a passing
rage." There was a menace in her even voice, a
cold echo like that from a closed, empty room, that
oppressed Gordon unpleasantly.

"I guess you're not as dangerous as that," he responded,
more lightly. He wondered, unable to decide,
if she were consciously pressing her body
against him, or if it were merely the jolting of the
buggy? They were passing through the valley that
led into Greenstream; the sun was lowering behind
them, the shadows creeping out. They dropped
from the rough, minor forms into the bigger sweep
-- it was like a great, green bed half-filled with a
gold flood. Gordon's horse walked, and, in their
slow progress, the stream of light flowing between the
ranges changed to a stream of shadow. A miraculous
pink rose opened in the east and scattered its
glowing petals across the sky. The buggy wound,
like an infinitesimal toy, over the darkening road.

He passed his dwelling, a long, irregular roof
against the veiled surface of the stream; a light
shone from the kitchen window. The streets of the
village, folded in warm dusk, were empty; the white
columns of the Courthouse glimmered behind the

[[200]]

p199 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p200w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p201

v?