How horrible was the
dark--the blackness that showed invisible things! A wolf sent up his
hungry, lonely cry. She did not fear this reality so much as she
feared the intangible. If she lived through this night, there would
be another like it to renew the horror. She would rather not live.
Like a creature beset by foes all around she watched; she faced
every little sound; she peered into the darkness, instinctively
unable to give up, to end the struggle, to lie down and die.
Neale seemed to be with her. He was alive. He was thinking of her at
that very moment. He would expect her to overcome self and accident
and calamity. He spoke to her out of the distance and his voice had
the old power, stronger than fear, exhaustion, hopelessness,
insanity. He could call her back from the grave.
And so the night passed.
In the morning, when the sun lit the level land, far down the trail
westward gleamed a long white line of moving wagons.
Allie uttered a wild and broken cry, in which all the torture
shuddered out of her heart. Again she was saved! That black doubt
was shame to her spirit. She prayed her thanksgiving, and vowed in
her prayers that no adversity, however cruel, could ever again shake
her faith or conquer her spirit.
She was going on to meet Neale.
Pages:
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201