And near to him he heard the scuffle of a
mighty Slavonian hunter, loath to die, and, half uprisen, borne
back and down by the thirsty spears.
Then he saw above him the face of Oona, and felt about him the arms
of Oona; and for a moment the sun steadied and stood still, and the
great walls were upright and moved not.
"Thou art a brave man, Negore," he heard her say in his ear; "thou
art my man, Negore."
And in that moment he lived all the life of gladness of which she
had told him, and the laughter and the song, and as the sun went
out of the sky above him, as in his old age, he knew the memory of
her was sweet. And as even the memories dimmed and died in the
darkness that fell upon him, he knew in her arms the fulfilment of
all the ease and rest she had promised him. And as black night
wrapped around him, his head upon her breast, he felt a great peace
steal about him, and he was aware of the hush of many twilights and
the mystery of silence.
End of the Project Gutenberg eText Love of Life and Other Stories
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