that gaping, insatiable chasm. He was conscious
of an invisible force propelling him into that sorry
parade, toward those unpretentious stones marked
with the shibboleth of names and dates. A desperate
anxiety to evade this fate set his soul cowering in
its fatal mask of clay. This, he realized, was unadulterated,
childish fear, and he angrily aroused
himself from its stifling influence.

Meta Beggs would be back soon; she would require
an answer to her resolve... all or nothing.
The heat, chilled by the night and loneliness, faded
a little from his blood. She demanded a great deal
-- a man could never return. He bitterly cursed his
indecision. He became aware of a pervading weariness,
a stiffness from his prolonged contact with the
earth, and he rose, moved about. His legs were as
rigid, as painful, as an old man's; he had been leaning
on his elbow, and the arm was dead to the fingers.
The nerves pricked and jerked in infinitesimal,
fiery agonies. He swung his arms, stamped his
feet, aiding his stagnating circulation. The frogs
ceased their complaint abruptly; the concerted jangle
of voices in the grove rose and fell. The replenished
fires poured their energy over the broad bottoms
of the sap kettles.

The night faded.

The change, at first, was imperceptible: as always
the easterly mountains grow visible against a

[[253]]

p252 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p253w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p254

v?