Arithelli kissed the letter, before she put it down, and lay back with
her hands over her eyes, trying to think. She had begun her adventures
by running away from home, and now for the second time her only course
was flight. Even Emile had told her not to waste time in going. For
her it seemed there was never to be any peace or rest.
If they could only find some haven away from all the world, she
thought. A forest or desert, some unknown spot where there was air and
space and natural savage beauty, a tent to dwell in, a horse to ride,
complete freedom, the life of her remote ancestors, simple, dignified.
Once she had craved for change. Now she feared it. She knew what
Vardri had ignored, that the moment they both left Barcelona they would
become fugitives. If they were discovered they would be treated simply
as deserters from the ranks of an army.
Instinctively her thoughts turned to Emile. It was he who must help
her to decide. She slid out of bed, and commenced her toilet, while
she recalled to mind the things that must be got through during the
day.
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