Then the lightning
flashed and all was lit. It vanished, the light from the air in
conflict with itself. All was dark--then the flash again! The rain now
fell in a torrent.
"At least it is dry here! There is wood, but I have no way to make
fire."
"I am not cold."
"Sit here, upon this ledge. Alexander and I cleared it and widened
it."
She sat down. When he spoke of Alexander she thought of Alexander,
without unkindness, without comparing, without compunction, a thought
colorless and simple, as of one whom she had known and liked a long
time ago. Indeed, it might be said that she had little here with which
to reproach herself. She had been honest--had not said "Take!" where
she could not fulfil.... And now the laird of Glenfernie was like a
form met long ago--long ago! It seemed so long and far away that she
could not even think of him as suffering. As she might leave a
fugitive memory, so she turned her mind from him.
Ian thought of Alexander ... but he looked, by the lightning's lamp,
at the woman opposite.
She was not the first that he had desired, but he desired now with
unwonted strength. He did not know why--he did not analyze himself nor
the situation--but all the others seemed gathered up in her. She was
fair to him, desirable!... He thirsted, quite with the mortal honesty
of an Arab, day and night and day again without drink in the desert,
and the oasis palms seen at last on the horizon.
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