and take more courage than the noisy, ex-
cited passages in life. Antonia came in and
stood before me; a stalwart, brown woman,
flat-chested, her curly brown hair a little
grizzled. It was a shock, of course. It always
is, to meet people after long years, especially
if they have lived as much and as hard as this
woman had. We stood looking at each other.
The eyes that peered anxiously at me were
-- simply Antonia's eyes. I had seen no
others like them since I looked into them last,
though I had looked at so many thousands
of human faces. As I confronted her, the
changes grew less apparent to me, her iden-
tity stronger. She was there, in the full vigor
of her personality, battered but not dimin-
ished, looking at me, speaking to me in the
husky, breathy voice I remembered so well.

"My husband's not at home, sir. Can I
do anything?"

"Don't you remember me, Antonia? Have
I changed so much?"

She frowned into the slanting sunlight that
made her brown hair look redder than it was.
Suddenly her eyes widened, her whole face
seemed to grow broader. She caught her
breath and put out two hard-worked hands.

[[374]]

p373 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p374w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p375

v?