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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Frontier Stories"

For the first time
she felt the loss of her sight. She did not know that it was, in this
moment of happiness, the last blessing vouchsafed to her miserable
life.
A few moments of silence followed, broken only by the distant rumor of
the conflagration and the crash of falling boughs. "It may be an hour
yet," he whispered, "before the fire has swept a path for us to the
road below. We are safe here, unless some sudden current should draw
the fire down upon us. You are not frightened?" She pressed his hand;
she was thinking of the pale face of Dunn, lying in the secure retreat
she had purchased for him at such a sacrifice. Yet the possibility of
danger to him now for a moment marred her present happiness and
security. "You think the fire will not go north of where you found me?"
she asked softly.
"I think not," he said; "but I will reconnoitre. Stay where you are."
They pressed hands and parted. He leaped upon the slanting trunk and
ascended it rapidly. She waited in mute expectation.
There was a sudden movement of the root on which she sat, a deafening
crash, and she was thrown forward on her face.


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