"
"I've been wanting to see just how badly you'd treated the poor old
boat," said Diana, following Enoch toward the shore.
But Enoch had not the slightest intention of holding an inquest on the
Ida. In the shade of a gnarled cedar to which the boat was tied as a
precaution against high water, he had placed a box. Thither he led
Diana.
"Do sit down, Diana, and let me sit here at your feet. I'll admit it
should be unexpected joy enough just to find you here. But I'm greedy.
I want you to myself, and I want to tell you a thousand things."
"All right, Judge, begin," returned Diana amiably, as she clasped her
knee with both hands and smiled at him. But Enoch could not begin,
immediately. Sitting in the sand with his back against the cedar he
looked out at the Colorado flowing so placidly, at the pale gray green
of the far canyon walls and a sense of all that the river signified to
him, all that it had brought to him, all that it would mean to him to
leave it and with it Diana,--Diana who had been his other self since he
was a lad of eighteen,--made him speechless for a time.
Diana waited, patiently. At last, Enoch turned to her, "All the things
I want to say most, can't be said, Diana!"
"Are you glad you took the trip down the river, Judge?"
"Glad! Was Roland glad he made his adventure in search of the Dark
Tower?"
"Yes, he was, only, Judge--"
Enoch interrupted.
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