And yet again, broader, stronger,
deeper, lavishly spilling streamers to right and left, it flaunted the
midmost zenith with its gorgeous flare, and passed on and down to the
further edge of the world. Heaven was bridged at last, and the bridge
endured!
At this flaming triumph the silence of earth was broken, and ten
thousand wolf-dogs, in long-drawn unisoned howls, sobbed their dismay
and grief. Frona shivered, and St. Vincent passed his arm about her
waist. The woman in her was aware of the touch of man, and of a slight
tingling thrill of vague delight; but she made no resistance. And as
the wolf-dogs mourned at her feet and the aurora wantoned overhead, she
felt herself drawn against him closely.
"Need I tell my story?" he whispered.
She drooped her head in tired content on his shoulder, and together
they watched the burning vault wherein the stars dimmed and vanished.
Ebbing, flowing, pulsing to some tremendous rhythm, the prism colors
hurled themselves in luminous deluge across the firmament. Then the
canopy of heaven became a mighty loom, wherein imperial purple and deep
sea-green blended, wove, and interwove, with blazing woof and flashing
warp, till the most delicate of tulles, fluorescent and bewildering,
was daintily and airily shaken in the face of the astonished night.
Without warning the span was sundered by an arrogant arm of black.
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