Even with her hands shutting out the light she thought the
desert around had changed and become all mellow gold and blue and white,
radiant as the moonlight of dreams--and that the monuments soared above them
grandly, and were beautiful and noble, like the revelations of love and joy to
her. And suddenly she found herself sitting at the foot of the cedar, weeping,
with tear-wet hands over her face.
"There's nothin' to---to cry about," Slone was saying. "But I'm sorry if I
hurt you."
"Will--you--please--fetch Sarch?" asked Lucy, tremulously.
While Slone went for the horse and saddled him Lucy composed herself
outwardly. And she had two very strong desires--one to tell Slone something,
and the other to run. She decided she would do both together.
Slone brought Sarchedon. Lucy put on her gauntlets, and, mounting the horse,
she took a moment to arrange her skirts before she looked down at Slone. He
was now pale, rather than white, and instead of fire in his eyes there was
sadness. Lucy felt the swelling and pounding of her heart--and a long,
delicious shuddering thrill that ran over her.
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