With a sigh that was almost a sob, Rachel walked back over the sand
toward the cave that had been her only shelter once.
She did not fear it. Kenkenes had crossed this gray level of sand in
the night and its wet border at the river had borne the print of his
sandal. He had made the tomb a home for her, he had knelt on its rock
pavement and kissed her hands in its dusk and had passed its threshold,
like a shadow, to return no more. And here, too, was the other
faithful suggestion of her lost love--the pet ape. How his fitful
fidelities had directed themselves to her! She caught him up as he
passed her. He struggled, turned in her arms, and then became passive,
breathing loudly.
She climbed the rough steps and sat down on the topmost one to think.
She was surrounded with old evidences of her sorrow. Nor was there any
cheer before her. Escape was in prospect, but it was liberty without
light or peace--a gray freedom without hope, purpose or fruit. Her
retrospect gradually brightened, never to brilliance but to a soft
luminance, brightest at the farthermost point and sad like the dying
daylight. She summarized her griefs--danger, death, suspense, shame
and long hopelessness. The lonely girl's stock of unhappiness took her
breath away and she pushed back the wimple as if to clear away the
oppression.
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