One by one they crossed themselves and stole away into
the darkness, muttering.
XXXI
A SPANISH WILL
With a singing heart Alaire rode through the night at her
husband's side. The strain of the last few hours had been so
intense, the relief at her deliverance so keen, that now she felt
curiously weak, and she kept close to Dave, comforted by his
nearness and secure in the knowledge of his strength.
Although he was unusually taciturn and rode with his chin upon his
breast, she attributed his silence to fatigue. Now and then,
therefore, she spurred to his side and spoke softly, caressingly.
At such times he reached for her hand and clung to it.
Dave was indeed weary; he was, in fact, in a sort of stupor, and
not infrequently he dozed for a moment or two in his saddle. Yet
it was not this which stilled his tongue, but a growing sense of
guilt and dismay at what he had brought upon himself. In a moment
of weakness he had done the very thing against which he had fought
so bitterly, and now he faced the consequences. How, when, where
could he find strength to undo his action? he asked himself. The
weight of this question bent his shoulders, paralyzed his wits.
Pages:
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470