There was warmth here, the warmth of sun
upon a western slope. There was life, too, the natural life of grass
and vine, the cheerful noise of birds and squirrels and bees. And,
for color, there were harmonies in all the browns and greens and
yellows of the rocky soil.
"Let us sit here. They won't mind. They are all sleeping so
happily," Desire had declared. "And the crosses make it seem like
one large family--see how that wild rose vine has spread itself over
a whole group of graves! It is so friendly."
Spence had fallen in with her humor, and had come indeed to love
this place where even the sun paused lingeringly before the
mountains swallowed it up.
This afternoon he flung himself down beside their favorite rose-vine
with the comfortable sense of well-being which comes with returning
health. Even more than Desire, he wondered that he had ever
hesitated before an arrangement so eminently satisfying. If ever
events had justified an impulse, his impulse, he felt, had been
justified. He stole a glance at Desire as she sat in pleasant
silence gazing into the sunset. She was happier already, and
younger. Something of that hard maturity was fading from her eyes--
the tiny dented corners of her lips were softer. . . . Oh,
undoubtedly he had done the right thing! And everything had run so
smoothly. There had been no trouble. No unlocked for Nemesis had
dogged his steps even in the matter of that small strategy
concerning his unhappy past.
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