All day long he had looked forward to this quiet hour that belonged to her.It was dark.He could see nothing, but, by and by, he heard a step, a gentle rustle of the grass on the slope of the hill pressed under an advancing foot.Then he saw the faint gleam of pallid gold of her hair, a barely visible glow in the starlight, and heard the murmur of her breath in the lapse of the over-passing breeze.And then, in the midst of the gentle perfumes of the garden, the perfumes of the magnolia flowers, of the mignonette borders, of the crumbling walls, there expanded a new odour, or the faint mingling of many odours, the smell of the roses that lingered in her hair, of the lilies that exhaled from her neck, of the heliotrope that disengaged itself from her hands and arms, and of the hyacinths with which her little feet were redolent, And then, suddenly, it was herself--her eyes, heavy-lidded, violet blue, full of the love of him; her sweet full lips speaking his name; her hands clasping his hands, his shoulders, his neck--her whole dear body giving itself into his embrace; her lips against his; her hands holding his head, drawing his face down to hers.
Vanamee, as he remembered all this, flung out an arm with a cry of pain, his eyes searching the gloom, all his mind in strenuous mutiny against the triumph of Death.His glance shot swiftly out across the night, unconsciously following the direction from which Angele used to come to him.
"Come to me now," he exclaimed under his breath, tense and rigid with the vast futile effort of his will."Come to me now, now.
Don't you hear me, Angele? You must, you must come."Suddenly Vanamee returned to himself with the abruptness of a blow.His eyes opened.He half raised himself from the ground.
Swiftly his scattered wits readjusted themselves.Never more sane, never more himself, he rose to his feet and stood looking off into the night across the Seed ranch.
"What was it?" he murmured, bewildered.
He looked around him from side to side, as if to get in touch with reality once more.He looked at his hands, at the rough bark of the pear tree next which he stood, at the streaked and rain-eroded walls of the Mission and garden.The exaltation of his mind calmed itself; the unnatural strain under which he laboured slackened.He became thoroughly master of himself again, matter-of-fact, practical, keen.
But just so sure as his hands were his own, just so sure as the bark of the pear tree was rough, the mouldering adobe of the Mission walls damp--just so sure had Something occurred.It was vague, intangible, appealing only to some strange, nameless sixth sense, but none the less perceptible.His mind, his imagination, sent out from him across the night, across the little valley below him, speeding hither and thither through the dark, lost, confused, had suddenly paused, hovering, had found Something.It had not returned to him empty-handed.It had come back, but now there was a change--mysterious, illusive.There were no words for this that had transpired.But for the moment, one thing only was certain.The night was no longer voiceless, the dark was no longer empty.Far off there, beyond the reach of vision, unlocalised, strange, a ripple had formed on the still black pool of the night, had formed, flashed one instant to the stars, then swiftly faded again.The night shut down once more.There was no sound--nothing stirred.
For the moment, Vanamee stood transfixed, struck rigid in his place, stupefied, his eyes staring, breathless with utter amazement.Then, step by step, he shrank back into the deeper shadow, treading with the infinite precaution of a prowling leopard.A qualm of something very much like fear seized upon him.But immediately on the heels of this first impression came the doubt of his own senses.Whatever had happened had been so ephemeral, so faint, so intangible, that now he wondered if he had not deceived himself, after all.But the reaction followed.
Surely, there had been Something.And from that moment began for him the most poignant uncertainty of mind.Gradually he drew back into the garden, holding his breath, listening to every faintest sound, walking upon tiptoe.He reached the fountain, and wetting his hands, passed them across his forehead and eyes.
Once more he stood listening.The silence was profound.
Troubled, disturbed, Vanamee went away, passing out of the garden, descending the hill.He forded Broderson Creek where it intersected the road to Guadalajara, and went on across Quien Sabe, walking slowly, his head bent down, his hands clasped behind his back, thoughtful, perplexed.
