The
lightning flashed, the thunder rolled; in here was the castle hold,
dim and safe. They were as alone as in a fairy-tale, as alone as
though around the cave beat an ocean that boat had never crossed.
They sat near each other; once or twice Ian, rising, moved to and fro
in the cave, or at the opening looked into the turmoil without. When
he did this her eyes followed him. Each, in every fiber, had
consciousness of the other. They were as conscious of each other as
lion and lioness in a desert cave.
They talked, but they did not talk much. What they said was trite
enough. Underneath was the potent language, wave meeting wave with
shock and thrill and exultation. These would not come, here and now,
to outer utterance. But sooner or later they would come. Each knew
that--though not always does one acknowledge what is known.
When they spoke it was chiefly of weather and of country people....
The lightning blazed less frequently, thunder subdued itself. For a
time the rain fell thick and leaden, but after an hour it thinned and
grew silver. Presently it wholly stopped.
"This storm is over," said Ian.
Elspeth rose from the ledge of stone. He drew aside the dripping
curtain of leaf and stem, and she stepped forth from the cave, and he
followed. The clouds were breaking, the birds were singing. The day of
creation could not have seen the glen more lucent and fragrant.
Pages:
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155