Ever afterward the memory of that night seemed like a
grotesque and horrible dream to him. Looking back, he could
remember how the moon sank out of the sky and utter darkness
closed them in and how through that darkness he urged on the tired
dogs, tugging with them at the lead-trace, and stopping now and
then in his own exhaustion to put his arms about Celie and repeat
over and over again that everything was all right.
After an eternity the dawn came. What there was to be of day
followed swiftly, like the Arctic night. The shadows faded away,
the shores loomed up and the illimitable sweep of the plain lifted
itself into vision as if from out of a great sea of receding fog.
In the quarter hour's phenomenon between the last of darkness and
wide day Philip stood straining his eyes southward over the white
path of the Coppermine. It was Celie, huddled close at his side,
who turned her eyes first from the trail their enemies would
follow. She faced the north, and the cry that came from her lips
brought Philip about like a shot.
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