Another, just as fascinating, but so haunting that he always dispelled it, was
a dream where Lucy, alone and in peril, fought with Cordts or Joel Creech for
more than her life. These vague dreams were Slone's acceptance of the blood
and spirit in Lucy. She was Bostil's daughter. She had no sense of fear. She
would fight. And though Slone always thrilled with pride, he also trembled
with dread.
At length even wilder dreams of Lucy's rare moments, when she let herself go,
like a desert whirlwind, to envelop him in all her sweetness, could not avail
to keep Slone patient. He began to pace to and fro under the big tree. He
waited and waited. What could have detained her? Slone inwardly laughed at the
idea that either Holley or Aunt Jane could keep his girl indoors when she
wanted to come out to meet him. Yet Lucy had always said something might
prevent. There was no reason for Slone to be concerned. He was mistaking his
thrills and excitement and love and disappointment for something in which
there was no reality.
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