A last stroke! The silence vibrated to a deep, hoarse acclaim from
hundreds of men--a triumphant, united hurrah, simultaneously sent
out with that final message, "Done!"
A great flood of sound, of color seemed to wave over Neale. His eyes
dimmed with salt tears, blurring the splendid scene. The last moment
had passed--that for which he had stood with all faith, all spirit--
and the victory was his. The darkness passed out of his soul.
Then, as he stood there, bareheaded, at the height of this all-
satisfying moment, when the last echoing melody of the sledge had
blended in the roar of the crowd, a strange feeling of a presence
struck Neale. Was it spiritual--was it divine--was it God? Or was it
only baneful, fateful--the specter of his accomplished work--a
reminder of the long, gray future?
A hand slipped into his--small, soft, trembling, exquisitely
thrilling. Neale became still as a stone--transfixed. He knew that
touch. No dream, no fancy, no morbid visitation! He felt warm flesh
--tender, clinging fingers; and then the pulse of blood that beat of
hope--love--life--Allie Lee!
36
Slingerland saw Allie Lee married to Neale by that minister of God
whose prayer had followed the joining of the rails.
And to the old trapper had fallen the joy and the honor of giving
the bride away and of receiving her kiss, as though he had been her
father.
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